


i'm the one for your fire

by venomedveins



Series: of magic & monsters [8]
Category: Spartacus Series (TV)
Genre: Blood, F/M, Gore, M/M, Magic, Mpreg, Murder, Past Child Abuse, Past Mentions of Sexual Assault, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-30
Updated: 2015-11-30
Packaged: 2018-05-04 02:21:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 29,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5316884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/venomedveins/pseuds/venomedveins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Wolf Festival is finally here. Agron and Nasir must deal with being newly crowned royals.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i'm the one for your fire

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to habibinasir for being my lovely beta and letting me whine and complain about this fic. 
> 
> Also, thank you to bravermus whom without this wouldn't have been possible. 
> 
> Lastly, thank you to everyone who keeps reading and going along with this fic!

Auctus lets the tent door close softly, inching across the floor. The hour is late, and silence has fallen over the town. He can see Duro sitting on the side of the bed, elbows on his knees and head bent forward. There is a large amphora of wine next to him on the floor, and from Auctus' viewpoint, he can see that it's nearly empty. 

"Your brother and Nasir are down for the night, safe in each other's arms," Auctus murmurs, coming to sit next to the prince, "Crixus and Mira are on guard duty. And all seems quiet."

"And do they sleep or fuck?" Duro spits bitterly, raising his red ringed eyes to Auctus. 

"I-I don't know," Auctus shakes his head, "They have shut their tent for the night, that's all I know." 

"Fucking then." Duro nods, curling his lip slightly, "I suppose they can rest now that they have murdered my father."

"Duro," Auctus moves to wrap his arm around the man, but is roughly pushed away. 

"Don't touch me! How can you touch me after what you've done? We've done?" Duro's voice breaks, turning away as his eyes fill again with tears. "We killed my father."

"He is not dead, bambi," Auctus tries to soothes, "not really."

"Basically," Duro snaps, standing quickly and stalking towards the roaring fire, "Was he such a bad man? Did he really deserve this?"

Auctus can feel the migraine coming on, the stress of the day, and now this. His legs ache from standing on guard duty all day, shoulders tense. He doesn't want to fight; he just wants to sleep. 

"Yes, he was. You know this. You agreed to this plan." Auctus sighs, crossing his arms over his head. "It was for everyone's betterment if Gerulf is out of the picture."

"We did this because Agron and Nasir wanted it done!" Duro hisses, turning back on his boyfriend, "They hated him! They've always hated him, and he was the one that got them together! He was a good man, a good king."

"Do you honestly think he's a good man? Has ever been a good father to you?" Auctus asks sharply, not meaning to sound so harsh, but fuck. He really doesn't know why they have to do this right now. 

"He was," Duro argues, turning his head sharply, "He wasn't always cruel and harsh. He loved us, in his own way."

Auctus shakes his head in disbelief, "You can't be serious. Bambi, are you even hearing yourself right now?"

"You didn't know him like I did," Duro argues back, "My father wanted the best for us. We didn't exactly always make it easy on him either. He did the best that he could."

"Did he? Did he do the best he could? Was he doing that when he beat your brother until he could barely stand? When he chastised and abused you because you were second born?" Auctus' voice raises, nearly yelling now, "Was he your wonderful father when he told you to rape your brother-in-law?"

"Auctus-" Duro tries to cut in, but the guard raises his hand. 

"Don't you defend him, Duro," Auctus snarls, "Don't you dare. Not when he has never defended you."

Duro rubs his hands through his hair, tugging hard on his curls. He doesn't want to hear this, doesn't want to remember all the horrible shit of his childhood. He wishes he could remake everything, go back to when Agron and him would run through the fields, their mother chasing them in the sunlight. It feels like a million miles away, a faded memory torn around the edges. 

"I know you love him, in your own way Duro, but he is not worthy of that love," Auctus murmurs, voice giving out, "You can't place this blame on Agron and Nasir."

"They wanted this-" Duro tries to cut in, but Auctus just shakes his head, raising a hand. 

"Think about your niece or nephew," Auctus sighs, "Think about the danger that Gerulf puts it in. All he wanted was that baby, all he cared about. Do you think that Agron was just going to hand over his child to your father?"

Duro scoffs, "And what are we going to do when Agron loses his temper one day? When he puts his hands on Nasir? Backhands him because Nasir won't watch his mouth? Are we going to kill my brother too?"

"If you think your brother is going to hurt his husband, you clearly don't know him like the rest of us do." Auctus shakes his head slowly. 

"And I know you so well? How do I know you're not plotting my death too?" Duro snarls, reaching for his cup of wine again. 

"I guess you don't." Auctus reaches over towards the end of the bed, snatching up his cloak.   
"Where are you going?" Duro asks, following Auctus towards the door. He reaches desperately for his arm, but Auctus yanks it away. 

"I would hate for you to feel in danger," Auctus' eyes seem to flash as he yanks the door open, "Goodnight, your majesty."

Then he's gone with a swish of his cloak.

\- - -

__

_Hues of crimson, gold, and amber swirl along the breeze, leaves spinning ceaselessly along the outskirts of the clearing. It's a whirlwind of colors, interlaced with flecks of gold and green, the scene set in an over present sepia. Magic lingers here, acidic and sharp, a storm getting ready to break. It’s obtuse, an image waving over and over as if seen through frosted glass._

_Two figures stand in the midst of the tornado, identical arms wrapped around each other and hands clasped behind twin necks. Both men are naked, heads tilted together and lips moving. A tongue traces a pair of lips and suddenly the other is leaning forward, over powering and intense. Nasir knows them, can remember the shape of their faces, the familiar slope of their noses – the same shape as the one on his own face._

_Mika and Jem caress one another, skin slicked with red pollen and sweat, intimate and fiery and Nasir has never seen them like this – but it’s been close a few times. Their sins are kept secret, Kallistos’ shame and the twin’s highest pleasure. There are snakes curled around their ankles, crawling up their calves before arching away with open mouths and dripping fangs. They look like the Taw'aman - twin gods of the Pythonissa separated at birth but connected by a single thread from their navels. They are thought to be the evening and dusk._

_Nasir tries to call out to them, get their attention, but he can't get his lips to work, tongue heavy against his teeth. His mouth tries to open but it sticks, hands outstretched to nothing but open air. They seem to notice though, even in the silence, and their heads turn slowly, eyes burning._

_"Little prince, little prince." They call, voices a strange tempo, slightly off on the sharp consonants. “Little moon child.”_

_Nasir tries to run forward, feet raw from the sharp grass, but he can't move - struck staring as his brothers’ smirk slowly. It’s grotesque, a horror waiting to unfold, but Nasir knows them – has known them for so long. They share blood. They share memories, childhood in covered wagons and firelight. He misses them with every breath that he draws._

_"Little child inside of you," Mika's teeth are not his own - sharp fangs against his bottom lip. "You are keeping secrets. Giants to roam. Roam. Roaming."_

_"Does he know? Do you know?" Jem hisses, curving around his brother, "What will your wolf king do when your magic shows your scales? You have stopped praying to our gods, no longer strip your skin to our snake. Where do your loyalties lie now, little brother?"_

_"What do you mean?" Nasir wants to scream, fingers curling on his lips to try and force them open - they won't though. Instead, sharp, snake like fangs spread between his lips, venom gathering there. Nasir tries to wipe it away, but suddenly, Mika and Jem are standing before him, hands sliding over his shoulders, his hair, his neck. Their touches torture, their touches heal, and Nasir wants them closer, wants to drown in the familiarity._

_"Take the life, drink the blood," they chorus together, "A thousand stars are falling for you, medeis gemma. Knees to the earth. The vows of a nation at your feet."_

_There is rain now, dripping silver that clings to the trio, cold and bitter. Nasir tries to touch them, hold his brothers, but he can barely breathe. This isn't right. He shouldn't be here. How did he get here? Where is Agron? Where is his king? Who is his king?_

_"Tame the beast. Tame the pack."_

_The twins repeat the phrase over and over, volume growing as the rain gets faster. Nasir wants to hold them, wants to make Mika laugh, Jem roll his eyes. The want, the longing is so sharp that Nasir lashes out, gripping both of their necks, but it's not enough. They recoil with hisses, twisting around one another again, shaking their heads._

_“When it is time, Nasir, you will know what to do.”_

_“Your life for another’s life. Your life for the light.”_

Nasir wakes with a cry, body propelled forward until he's hunched over, hands on his face. He can feel the scales there, the golden diamonds spread down from his forehead over his nose, the fangs against his lips. It's the one power of his people that he's never been able to control, never been able to hide. It's only happened a few times - anger or pain usually provoking. The baby has made Nasir's magic rampant though, even more uncontrollable.

"Nasir? What is it?" Agron asks sleepily, sitting up next to him, arm warm across his back. 

"Nothing," Nasir chokes out, using his hair as a kind of shield. "Go back to sleep."

He knows this place, knows where he is now. The cruel twist of his brothers’ faces a distant flicker, too far away for Nasir to reach. He can recall it though, their final words echoing over and over in his head. What had they meant though? His life for the light? The sharing of dreams is something sacred in the Pythonissa culture – a gift only shared by those whose magic is entwined. The twins have never shared a dream with Nasir before. 

"Nasir," Agron presses a soft kiss to the back of Nasir's bare shoulder, nuzzling there, trying to turn his head. Nasir yanks away though, facing the other way, staring distantly at the wall. 

"Don't." Nasir spits, then relenting his tone, "Please don't."

Agron shifts slowly, worried tenfold by the harshness in Nasir's words. Easing his fingertips under his hair, Agron uses two to slowly turn Nasir's jaw, being careful to only do it if Nasir doesn't resist. Nasir can’t control it though, can’t will it away, so he gives in. Agron is eventually going to see. 

He takes it all in, the small slits of Nasir's pupils, the dark marks running in small triangles across Nasir's forehead, the retractable fangs that are closer together than Agron's own, sharp and deadly. He's never seen it on Nasir, heard the slur in his words before, fury making the threat of the shift, but never like this. Agron can't help himself, he reaches out and strokes his finger down Nasir's nose to feel the dryness, the flaky scales rippling under the touch in pleasure. 

"Can you fully shift?" He asks quietly, awed. He notices that Nasir hasn't blinked, snake eyes staring sharp and unyielding. 

"I don't know," Nasir barely moves his mouth, "I've never tried. It's not common - a full shift - in my people but neither is-" Nasir freeze, looking away. 

"Neither is what?" Agron asks carefully, hands still sure on Nasir's skin. 

"Neither is anything that I can do. The pregnancy. All the elements. This," Nasir waves a hand over his face, "I can spit venom. That's not normal."

"In this world, is anything truly normal?" Agron dismisses, tucking a strand of Nasir's hair behind his ear, "Does it hurt?"

Mutely, Nasir shakes his head. He's waiting for it, waiting for the horror, the disgust, the disappointment. How can the king of wolves have a fucking snake as his consort? A snake to raise his cub? The people will hate him, turn against him. Label him a king killer and exile him or worse. 

"I'm sorry," Nasir whispers, feeling his eyes glistening. It's harder to cry half turned, unable to blink or wipe the tears away. A shimmer of gold travels across his cheek, weaves into his snake skin and stays.

"For what?" Agron lets out a short laugh, "That you have, once again, stunned me with your brilliance?"

"Wh-What?" Nasir startles, pulling away, "You have to hate me. How can you not hate me? I'm not worthy to be your husband, let alone your right hand. In case you have forgotten, you are a wolf. Your people expect a royal pack of wolves."

"Nasir, you are the most powerful being in this world. You know that, don't you? And even if you did not have a single ounce of magic in you, do you think it would change how I feel about you?" Agron trails kisses along the sharp scales on Nasir's forehead, tracing them down his nose before sealing their mouths together. It’s a simple kiss really, just a barely there brush of his tongue, but Nasir sighs into it. 

"What brought it on?" Agron asks after a moment, smoothing back the hair from Nasir's temples. The hour is late, tent dark as the snake retreats slowly back inside of Nasir, pupils widening slowly. 

"I had a nightmare." Nasir sighs, pulling the blankets higher on his waist, bare thighs chilled in the night air. He continues once Agron's arm is around him again. "Mika and Jem were there and they were talking to me. But I didn't understand."

"Do you think it was actually them?" Agron rubs soothing circles on his spine, tracing patterns into his soft skin. 

"I don't know," Nasir leans against Agron's shoulder, then after a moment continues in a softer, quiet voice. "What are we going to do if the baby comes out a snake and not a wolf?"

"Teach it not to spit?" Agron shrugs, grinning at his own joke before smacking a wet kiss to Nasir's cheek. "Love it all the same. What does it matter?"

"But-" Nasir tries to protest, turning to further the argument, but Agron covers his mouth with his finger, effectively silencing him. 

"Don't worry about the baby right now. It's safe. It's still inside of you. It has two parents that are crazy but crazy about each other. I’m not going to let anything happen to either one of you," Agron leans over, mouth a slick, hot line against Nasir's throat. "Let me distract you."

Agron isn’t a man with all the words. He can’t weave pretty, reassuring poetry like others can. He’s never had the talent, never had the ability to seal wounds and close horrors behind beautiful promises. He is a man of action, a soldier since he was old enough to walk, and Agron can only show what he feels with his hands, his mouth, his body giving all of itself to someone else. Nasir knows this, understands this language. Agron doesn’t need to always tell him how much he is, how much love there is between them, he can reassure fears, battle away tears, soothe with his fingertips, his tongue, his arms a shelter in the storm. 

Nasir tries to think of something to say, he knows he had something, but Agron's teeth sink into his skin and Nasir's eyes roll back. His whole body turns towards Agron, arms unfolding, head falling back. He doesn't know how they got this far, such a distance from their first night together. Nasir had come into this tent expecting to play a part, and now, he doesn't even think he could act with Agron. Every moan, every cry, every reaction pulled straight from Nasir's spine, pleasure so thick he chokes on it. 

Agron leads him down, lays him flat, bites him hard enough that Nasir cries out. He writhes against the pillows, fingers fisted in the sheets as Agron moves down. His mouth presses over one of Nasir's nipples, suckles against the skin until it pebbles. He's been so sore there lately, chest filling in preparation. Agron's attentions are the best and worst torture, sharp pleasure mixed with pain, and Nasir needs it now. 

He won't be able to take Agron again, too fucking sore, but Nasir manages to slid his fingers down between them and press two into himself. It's not nearly as thick as Agron, but from this angle, Nasir can press teasing fingers to the tip of his prostate - a brush of heat against him. 

Noticing, Agron pulls back with a slurp from Nasir's chest, spreading his thighs with both hands. He watches with half lidded eyes as Nasir fingers himself, shamelessly stroking his own cock at the sight. He knows Nasir isn't giving himself enough though, the angle too hard with the thick press of his stomach in the way. 

Laying down, Agron hooks his hands over Nasir's thighs and holds them open, barely meeting Nasir's gaze before he stoops down, thrusting his tongue between Nasir's rapidly pumping fingers. Lapping at the knuckles, Agron flicks his tongue up against the wall, feels the way Nasir's body reacts - shuddering against him as Nasir muffles his cries into his arm. 

Agron can tell his opening is sore, red and puffy along the edges from them fucking in the tub a while ago. Agron presses sucking kisses to the skin in an apology before easing his tongue in again and again, slicking the path for Nasir's fingers. It doesn't take long for Nasir to grow impatient, frustrated at the lack of depth, so Agron slips a hand down to aid him. He wraps his hand over the back of Nasir's, guides him and sets the rhythm, controls the way Nasir twists his wrist. 

"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!" Nasir pants, heels dragging on the blankets. "I'm gonna come, Agron."

Keeping his hand steady, urging Nasir's fingers deeper and faster, Agron leans up to wrap his lips around the crown of Nasir's cock, sucking hard and flicking his tongue relentlessly over the slit. It takes only a moment, a wide eyed stare meeting Agron's smoldering for Nasir to come with a scream, immobilized as the pleasure wafts through him. 

Nasir collapses back against the bed, chest heaving, but it is to no avail. Agron is relentless, lapping at Nasir's cock until it's clean, and then he takes him back down. He doesn't suck yet, just holds him in his mouth, traces along Nasir's throbbing vein. He can tell that Nasir is trying to pull himself together, breath gasping and thrumming out of him. 

"Relax baby," Agron soothes, blowing gently across the damp tip of Nasir's cock, "I'll take care of you."

Nasir whines, high and needy, before he drags his knees up, spreads his legs open for Agron. A reflex, Nasir squeezes his hands into fists, tries to calm down, but it’s so hard when Agron is down there, staring up at him with wild eyes, smirk dark and tinged in pleasure. It's enough permission for Agron to take him back down, teasing kitten licks until he feels Nasir stiffen against him. 

He takes his time this time, sucks long and hard, bobs his head slowly. Agron can taste the bitter tang of Nasir against his tongue, a little sweeter than last time as Nasir sprawls flat on his back, stares at the ceiling as he tries to control himself. It's no use though as Agron lightly drags his teeth on the upstroke, reaches down to roll Nasir's balls in the palm of his hand. 

Lifting his hips, Nasir's body trembles as he tries to keep himself still. He feels breathless, choked on pleasure, without anything to ground him except his fingers twisting over and over in the furs. It mats the soft fabric, palms slick with sweat. He wants it to stop, he wants it to never end. Nasir can barely think, hour too late and the seedy heat too slick. 

When he comes, and Nasir can't stop himself, he smothers his scream but it still manages to free itself from his throat - thick and desperate. Agron pulls back from it, lets the spurts fall on his tongue, his lips, his jaw, before slickly lapping it up with his tongue. 

He comes up then, for a brief kiss, and Nasir licks him clean, breathless and needy. It’s times like this that Nasir wonders when this will end. Nothing this good can ever last. Agron will tire, surely, of their meetings. And yet. Yet, there is something so magnetic about them, necessary to be near one another at all times, communication in glances and turns of their head. Nasir can’t even fault Duro anymore for being jealous. There is no one in the world at this level, no couple could possibly complete each other the way Nasir and Agron do. 

“Didn’t you say the elders were coming in the morning?” Agron asks, wetly trailing his tongue over the cut of Nasir’s jaw. 

“Yeah,” Nasir licks his lips, nails scratching lightly through Agron’s hair, “Spartacus said they wanted to people to see you in the crown at court.”

“We have about an hour before sunrise,” Agron squints at the doorway. “Plenty of time.”

He doesn’t let Nasir reply, but slips back down his body, mouth encircling him again. 

\- - - 

Pietros is half in and half out of a large trunk, standing on his toes as he digs within the depths of the ornate carved wood. They've opened up the sides of the tent, letting in the early morning light and chill. True winter is not too far from them now, and it clings in a light frost over the edges of the grass. Inside the tent though, it is still warm, fire glowing in its pit. There are scraps of fabric all over, strewn across the other trunks, half hanging onto the floor in an array of colors. 

At the small circle of chairs, Tove raises his cup of wine towards the view, toasting it and sharing a smirk with Agron. The way Pietros is bent over pulls his pants tight across his ass, outlining the shape of him perfectly and leaving nothing to imagination. Noticing the exchange, Nasir lightly smacks Agron's chest in reply, narrowing his eyes as Agron quickly darts his eyes away. Agron shrugs guiltily, much to Tove's amusement, distracted as Pietros stands up sharply with an "Aha!"

He's holding a long, silver pair of pants, belt encrusted in white and gold gems. The material is flimsy, shiny with ribbons of translucent thread woven through, cut to hang low. There are cut-outs on the side, large half circles that would reveal the lines of hips and thighs if it were put on. He holds the fabric up towards Nasir, shaking it to listen to the tinkering of tiny bells along the hem along the feet. 

"Ugh! Not that thing!" Nasir scrunches up his nose, "You and I both hated wearing that!"

"Only because the pants would twist and move the holes when you were writhing on the ground," Pietros mutters, pursing his lips.

“I doubt I’m going to be doing anything writhing anytime soon,” Nasir grumbles, waving his hand at his stomach. He lands another sharp smack to Agron’s chest a moment later when he mutters are barely concealed “That’s not what I saw this morning.”

Undeterred, Pietros holds his hands up, motioning widely at the clothing surrounding him. “We’re going to have to find something. You can’t exactly wrap yourself in a blanket for the festival,” Pietros sighs deeply, tossing the pants away from him. "Whatever we find, you’ll look good in. Besides, you always looked better in all the dancing outfits than me!"

"You know that's not true," Nasir shakes his head, popping a grape in his mouth, "You looked better in that striped one, the one with the ties up the back."

"Only because it was too long on you! And you could never keep it tied," Pietros fires back, narrowing his eyes.

“It wasn’t my fault!” Nasir replies around chewing, “Who makes pants that latch together with a ribbon up the back?”

“It doesn’t really matter what you wear,” Tove cuts in, “We’re all going to be naked.”

Both Pietros and Nasir’s heads whip around to look at him, expressions unreadable but eyes wide. 

“What?” Tove awkwardly raises his cup to his lips, “It’s true. What’s the point in wearing clothes when the full moon is going to force us to shift? We’d end up ruining it.”

“Am I going to be tied to a pole naked?” Nasir’s legs are propped up over the arm of his chair, leaning back on Agron’s chest so when he turns to look at his husband, it’s nearly upside down. 

“No, of course not.” Agron is quick to reassure, “Everyone else will be wearing black robes. You’ll be dressed as the goddess, all silver and white. And I’m not tying you to the pole, it’s more like placing your hands around it.”

“You really have it the easiest,” Tove’s words are muffled around his food, “You get to be pampered all day, bathed in milk and dressed, and then you get to sit while we go through the worst pain in the fucking world. Then, we bring you a snack.”

Nasir’s nose wrinkles, fingers idly playing with the leather cords around Agron’s neck. “You realize he’s not bringing me a treat, right? He’s bringing me a heart. To eat. In front of everyone.” Nasir annunciates each word carefully. 

“It hurts when you shift?” Pietros asks quietly, coming to stand beside Tove, fingers dragging through his hair. 

“Every time.” Tove murmurs, leaning into the touch like a cat. 

“It’s worse with the moon though,” Agron adds, “Imagine all of your magic just suddenly coursing through you. It’s the full effect of our lives, every inch of us suddenly snapping back into what we are underneath. A piece of us has been slowly fading and then it comes back full force and changes everything – physically and mentally.”

Nasir turns his head, lifting his chin enough to gently kiss Agron’s mouth, back of his hand sliding down Agron’s cheek. It’s a gentle caress, an apology for something that neither of them can control. He makes it last, leaning his head back against Agron’s shoulder, opening his mouth and lapping out against Agron’s teeth. Agron answers in kind, hand cupping the side of Nasir’s neck, thumb tracing down his Adam’s apple. 

“It seems so dramatic and horrible. Nothing like we go through. No one takes our magic from us, we control it always,“ Pietros sighs dramatically, leaning against Tove's chair, letting the royal wrap his arm around his hips, "Nasir, don't you ever miss it?"

Pulling away wetly, Nasir wipes his wrist across his mouth before leveling his best friend with a look. "Miss entertaining for hours on end so a crowd of men can fight over who is going to fuck us? No. I don't."

"Not that part!" Pietros steals a swig from Tove's cup. "Dancing, the open road, the magic. The freedom. You can't tell me that you don't miss when Mika and Jem would do their twin dance."

Nasir feels the shudder of sadness passing over him, the memory of the nightmare from this morning quickly overcoming. He's brought back through by the soft kicks against his stomach, the baby seeming to wake. Agron soothes a hand down it, smiling a little in reassurance as if he already knows where Nasir’s mind has gone. 

"No one is stopping you from dancing," Tove notices the shift in mood, trying to lighten it, "You can dance for me anytime you want." Pietros sticks his tongue out at Tove in reply. 

"I do miss dancing," Nasir relents, hoisting himself up from his chair with the aid of Agron's arm on his back. "I do not think that I would be much of one now, nor the baby would be inclined to all the spinning though."

"Might like it. You've never been prone to dizziness. Don’t act like you don’t know you’re the best." Pietros holds out his hand to him, leading Nasir in a circle. He's graceful even with the added weight, spinning in a swirl of white fabric. Nasir has covered himself modestly, dressed for his role now. 

"Was the best, though the baby doesn’t seem too annoyed," Nasir laughs as the baby kicks sharply against his ribs, and joy spreads through him - sharp and magical. 

"Perhaps it will become a dancer, like you," Pietros wraps his arm around Nasir's shoulders, "Woo everyone into peace. No wars or battles."

"They will be a great warrior, just like their daddy, whether boy or girl," Nasir grins over at Agron, eyes bright, "And bring pride and joy to all of us."

"I have no doubt," Agron replies, raising his cup at Nasir in a small toast. It’s an oddly endearing move, warmth spreading across Nasir’s cheek.

A moment later, they're interrupted as a large group approaches, led by a flank of fully armored guards. Tove whistles low, alerting the group to their approach, and Agron moves. He looks perfectly princely as he gently pushes Nasir and Pietros apart, hand warm on Nasir's shoulder as he leads him forward. The joy, the easy lightness of the previous conversation, ruined at the sudden appearance of the elders. 

They're laviscously dressed, bright and glaring in the sunlight in silks and taffeta. They remind Nasir of the peacocks they had seen in Hadiqa strutting around as Pietros and him had danced between them. They barely resemble the other Alptra, no leather or studs here. These are men and women who has hid from the sun, pampered by slaves and feasting. Nasir hates them, having to force his face neutral when Agron squeezes his shoulder - a reminder of their previous conversation. 

_They want a reason to hate you. These are Gerulf's men, not mine._

"Greetings most noble Alptra," Agron's voice is well trained, Spartacus has done well, as he spreads his free arm in a wide gesture. 

"Majesty," The one in front bows slightly, grin sharp and large. Nasir has never known his name, but he's seen him often enough, bowed close to Gerulf - whispering constantly. He was the one to lead Nasir to the blacksmith in the first place, unflinching when Nasir had screamed as they burned the metal shut around his skin. 

"Solonius," Agron nods his head in return, "A most grievous errand to come on such a glorious day. My father’s illness Do you fair well?"

"Very well," He replies, violet sash glimmering in the light, "Unfortunately, Spartacus has reported to us that your father's condition has not yet changed. We fear that we must begin to look to the future and certain decisions need to be made."

"Forgive me, my lord, but I do not think my husband has had a proper introduction to the council." Agron's gaze shifts past him towards the other men and women standing there. "If you would be so inclined."

"Of course, majesty." Solonius waves his hand at his companions. "Vettius. Ovidius. Licinia. Pericles. And of course, Castus as the replacement for Heracleo."

Castus steps forward, wrapped in bright teal and green. His grin is in place, bowing before the couple with a flourish of his hand. It's as formal as it is mocking, too bold of a move, and Nasir feels Agron stand taller against him. 

"A pleasure to once again find myself in your presence," Castus' eyes do not leave Nasir, a taunt that Nasir responds to by pursed lips and an arm wrapping around Agron.   
"Sorry for my late arrival," Duro suddenly shoves through the guards, looking worse for wear. He's wearing his formal armor, crown as always crooked in his hair. There are bruises under his eyes though, dark red and vicious as he takes his place next to Tove. He turns, patting his cousin on the back, but Duro does not respond. 

"Brother," Agron greets with a small incline of his head. Duro's gaze flickers over to him but then away, glaring down at the ground. 

"Now that we are all accounted for," Solonius smiles, "Shall we proceed?"

"Yes," Agron concedes, "Let's continue."

Solonius takes it upon himself to pour a cup of wine, gets comfortable before turning back towards the royals. 

"As you know, your father's illness has left the throne vacant - a position that the council and I would like for you to fill. We are prepared to take you to the blacksmith now and forge your new king crown," Solonius smiles, "Something of your choosing. It is not a permanent position - as we all hope your father will recover - but in case he does not - we want to be prepared."

"I am honored," Agron is the perfect picture of royalty with his grin and his height. But then, he seems to realize, and his brow furrows, words a growl. "And what of Nasir?"

"Agron," Solonius begins a sigh, "before your father fell ill, he discussed his growing concerns about your marriage. There is still time for a quiet annulment and to find a more _suitable_ match."

"Annulment?" Agron asks, bewildered. 

Beside him, Nasir has to close his eyes. Of fucking course. How could they be so naive to think that even poison would be enough to silence Gerulf? So this is what it has come down to - the king's revenge. 

"There are many young women within our nobility that could bare you a child. And with your particular needs, there are many men who could-" Solonius waves his hand, "satisfy you."

Nasir doesn't move, paralyzed at how ridiculous this is. It's as if he's not even here, a shade left standing by himself as Agron steps towards the group of elders.

"My father," Agron's voice is harsh, hitting, "freed Nasir from his chains and reinstated him to his full title. You all bore witness at the feast last night."

"There have been reports that make the elders question his intentions," Solonius shifts, not breaking his eye contact with Agron. 

"Reports? Accusations! What has been said?" Agron's temper is flaring and Nasir wishes he could whisper to him, could share their mind again, but the magic is halted until the full moon tonight. 

"To put it bluntly," Solonius sighs, "the council is concerned about his infidelity. We have a witnesses that has seen him and your own brother together."

"You think Duro and Nasir are fucking?" Agron scoffs, turning to look at his brother. 

Duro eyes him back, gaze wide but unwavering. They've had this discussion, this fight. Duro promised to take care of Nasir in Agron's absence, swore that if Agron returned as a corpse that Duro would take his place, but not until he had proof. He would never betray Agron that way, regardless of what lies Donar wants to spin. 

"One of the guards saw it," Solonius continues, words sharp - meant to injure, "Confessed he saw them together in your very own bed, writhing and touching one another. He heard Nasir call out Duro's name."

"That a lie!" Duro snarls, cutting in, but Tove's hand on his shoulder holds him back. 

Agron doesn't dare turn to Nasir, knows if he does then it will look like an accusation. He knows they didn't, and yet the image that Solonius paints is vibrant. He has seen Nasir like that, sweat slick and desperate, on his knees amongst the furs, skin glimmering. He wonders idly if Duro could please him like that, could touch him the way Agron can, can turn Nasir's muffled moans into wails. 

"There has even been fears of Spartacus and Nasir as well," Solonius sighs as if it pains him to bring this before the prince. “It seems your husband is more concerned with power than loyalty.”

From the side, Nasir suddenly chokes on a laugh, bending slightly at the waist to try and suppress it. It's not enough though as everyone turns, stares at him in horror and shock. He giggles even more as Solonius’ jaw drops, eyes bulging a little. 

"I'm sorry, my lord, but how exactly could I have fucked Spartacus? Did he not accompany my husband to battle? Do you think he would run all the way back from battle to bed me?" Nasir sighs, wiping a few mirthful tears from his eyes, "How can you not see that these are lies meant to injure the royal family?"

"Do not think we do not have our own eyes, little witch." Solonius glares. "You are what you are. We do not fault you for it, but we do not think you _fit_ into this world."

Nasir's eyes flicker to Agron, sees the rage and wrath contained there. They are very quickly spiraling out of control, and though Nasir hates to use it - they have just one card left to play, one last secret held back – kept safe. Nasir closes his eyes, prays that Agron will forgive him for doing this, putting it out there when they haven’t even discussed it yet. 

"There are others, Agron. More worthy. Better suited." Solonius seems to beg almost, staring up at the prince. Agron hasn't moved though, glowering at the floor. 

"If he divorces me," Nasir asks softly, not missing Agron's sharp inhale at the word, nor his quickly turned head, "what will happen to the baby?"

"Baby?" Solonius glances at his companions, confused, "What baby?"

"I'm pregnant, to put it bluntly," Nasir snarks back, patience gone. He knows that Agron and him never talked about this, giving away their secret, but it's all they have. It secures them, keeps them together. He eases a hand over his stomach, pulling the fabric tighter to show the swell of his stomach, hoping this will be enough. 

"Pregnant?" Solonius raises his eyebrows, "Since when?"

"He has been for a while," Agron interjects, voice soft as his eyes rove over his husband. "Nearly six months. We decided to keep it a secret until the Wolf Festival to make sure there were no complications."

Nasir slips his fingers through Agron's, squeezes reassuringly. It stands to reason they were eventually going to have to tell. Someone was going to notice Nasir’s size, and the sudden appearance of a child. 

“A thing easily faked,” Solonius shakes his head, mouth twisting bitterly around the words, “and who is to say it is even yours, your majesty? Do not let young affection cloud your judgement.”

“Were there not witnesses during our wedding night? Were there not witnesses for the past six months, the illness, the weight gain. Have I not covered my body to hide it?” Nasir hisses, fury too sharp and poignant to ignore now. He’s had enough, even with Agron’s hand in his own, he won’t regain his composure. 

“Your magic could create the look though-“ Tullius aims to argue again when Nasir is suddenly wrenching away from Agron with a cry. Frantically, he yanks at the small crystal buttons down the front of his shirt, the thread snapping as he tugs, nails digging into the fabric. Pietros tries to rush forward, aiming to help, but Tove grabs him too, holding him back. 

“Tell me, my lord,” Nasir spits, feeling the small folds of his mouth forming. His fangs want nothing more than to protrude. He manages to get his shirt open, the fabric ruined as he yanks it down his arms, casting it away. “Does this look fucking faked to you?”

Agron is instantly beside him again, stepping before Nasir and shielding him from sight. He can’t shift, wants nothing more than to snarl and glare at the elders, but he can’t – not yet. Instead, he stands tall and proud between them, holding Nasir back with a firm hand on the side of his stomach. 

“Nasir is my husband and he will be my consort.” Agron does not leave it up to discussion, tone firm. “It is his right and title, secured by producing an heir. As your acting king, I am commanding that you apologize and see yourselves from my tent.”

“The council will not recognize a bastard,” Solonius stands, straightening his robes, “and we require proof that he is truly pregnant as you say. Melitta can do the examination.”

“Fine.” Agron stands taller, “But I want your word that after this evening when Nasir eats the heart in offering to the moon and proves himself worthy, there will be no further discussion of titles and rights. My father picked him for me, promised him to me through marriage, and until that crown is placed upon my head – I follow the king’s rules. Do you not?”

Solonius’ mouth twists, but he bows his head low, the others of the council doing the same. “We swear. Apologizes, Prince Nasir. I spoke out of turn.”

Nasir is too angry to do anything but nod, standing as tall as he can next to Agron. He isn’t particularly bothered by his half nudity, but he knows that Agron is – body tense and shoulders flexed. It’s his urge to protect, to hide, and to secure that causes it. 

“The blacksmith is waiting,” Solonius calls over his shoulder, slipping out the door. “Nasir can wear your mother’s as a stand in.”

“What?” Duro snarls suddenly, turning, but the council is already retreating. “No, he can’t. That crown is waiting for her to come back for it!”

“It’s fine, Duro,” Agron waves his hand, “He can wear the circlet until we can get him his own crown.”

“I will not have him wearing her crown!” Duro spits, but with a harsh look from Agron, falls silent. 

They stand there until all the council members are out of the door, the flap closing once again. The minute they are alone, Duro slouches down into a chair, tugging the abandoned amphora of wine towards him. It doesn’t make it, Nasir turns and grabs it, tossing it across the tent until it shatters along the grass – staining the side of the tub in crimson. 

“Nasir,” Pietros tries to sooth, coming towards his friend, but Nasir shakes his head. 

“Don’t. Just don’t.” Nasir hisses, tugging at the braids interwoven at the crown of his head. “Are you against me? Do you wish I wasn’t here?” When Nasir turns, it seems as if he’s yelling at Agron, but he pushes past him, crowding towards Duro. 

“What?” Duro looks up, half dazed, and Nasir’s lip curls. 

“You’re fucking drunk.” He hisses an accusation and Duro raises his finger at him, half -heartedly. 

“Not everything is about you.” Duro mutters and Nasir turns back, eyes wild. 

“Maybe it fucking should be!” Nasir shouts, catching everyone off guard. Usually one to keep his head, Nasir’s patience has run thin. What is left is pure rage, a fireball of wrath that will not be extinguished. “How long have I been here at the mercy of your father’s fucking command? You, who were told to be prepared to take Agron’s place, to become a prince worthy of your title. You were fucking praised as I was paraded around like a fucking common whore!”

Nasir takes in a deep, shuddering breath before he continues. He’s unable to stop now that he’s begun. 

“I have been forced to entertain, to dance for men that were betting on fucking me, paying for me when they knew what my title is, what I have earned. I was shackled and led around camp like some captured animal for entertainment. I was stripped and checked for signs of magic – magic that Gerulf praised me on having in the first place. Everyone I have met in this city has had some agenda about me – some task they thought they could get out of me or that I could perform for them.”

Duro cringes under the words, knowing they are true. 

“And you want to know the worst part? The very worst is that I have been bought and sold every day since my thirteenth birthday. Six years of people grabbing at me, touching me, taking what I could not refuse them. And it wasn’t until I was sold to you, to this fucking kingdom, that I have ever felt this way – like a fucking commodity. Of little fucking worth other than the beauty of my face and the hole between my legs!”

Agron moves then, steps between his brother and husband with a soft growl – human and light compared to the way he usually sounds. Wrapping his hand around the back of Nasir’s neck, he tugs him away, pulls him towards the bed until he can shut the curtains around them. It casts them away from the brightness of the morning, the audience shut out. 

Tugging, Agron pulls Nasir against him, wraps his arms around until he can cradle Nasir, stroking and hushing soothing noises into his hair. Nasir doesn’t cry, doesn’t let himself fall to it again, instead, he yells, biting words that get lost with the way his face is pressed against Agron’s chest, fists slamming into Agron’s shoulders with little weight behind them. 

“Let it out, my love.” Agron murmurs, tapping lightly on Nasir’s spine. He doesn’t try to make Nasir stop hitting him, takes the blows. He’s surprised it has taken Nasir this long to crack. Between the pregnancy, the war, and the torture – Nasir has been overly strong – incredibly courageous. 

He finally stills, collapsing as his arms slide down Agron’s chest, breath shuddering and gasping against his sternum. Nasir doesn’t understand it, how even this big he can feel so small against Agron, his arms circling completely around Nasir’s waist. 

“I don’t want to do this anymore,” Nasir moans miserably, “I don’t.”

"Nasir," Agron kisses Nasir's temple, "We're free now. I know it doesn't feel like it, but we are. If we can get through today, just get through this stupid fucking festival, and no one will be able to touch us."

"I want to believe that," Nasir leans his forehead against Agron's collarbones, letting the familiarity of him - his scent, his skin, his voice - calm him. "But I don't."

"Look at me," Agron bends down, cupping the side of Nasir's face, "I swear to you, this is the last time."

"Agron-" Nasir starts unbelievingly, only for Agron to draw closer, holding his gaze seriously. 

"Anything else happens, anything, and we'll go. We'll pack up and leave. Start over with a little farm in the mountains," Agron's thumb strokes along Nasir's jaw, "Whatever you want. We can even get a wagon and travel around. I swear, no one is going to hurt you again."

Nasir nods slowly, staring at Agron until he sees what he seems to be looking for. How long can he lay the blame on Agron? He doesn't control everything, can't change what has happened. And if he’s honest with himself, Nasir doesn’t have it in him anymore to try and lay blame when he knows that the only man responsible for what has happened is laying in a venom induced coma. Relenting, Nasir smiles a little, leaning forward to kiss Agron, tilting his chin up to reach him. Inhaling, he seems to unfold under Agron, tension melting as Agron nuzzles his nose up Nasir's.

"You know I'd do anything for you," Agron whispers, "Let me prove it."

Nasir nods, a ghost of a smile beginning to grown on his face as he strokes down the leather cords on Agron's chest. It still catches him off guard sometimes, how good it feels to have Agron there after being gone so long. The baby kicks against Nasir’s ribs and it feels so right, perfect.

"A farm would be nice," He begins to giggle, "I can just imagine Spartacus and you trying to herd goats. A wolf among sheep."

"We could do it," Agron tries to look offended, "Are you doubting me?"

"Yes," Nasir answers bluntly, bursting into laughter as Agron reaches forward, digging his fingers into Nasir's sides. 

“You’re so cruel,” Agron chides, tickling Nasir’s hips, body leaning into him, “I’m a prince, almost a king. I can do whatever I put my mind to!”

He continues to tickle Nasir, even when he shouts, squirming for mercy. It’s not an easy task with the extra weight, the baby giving happy kicks at the feeling of joy surrounding it. Agron easily tosses Nasir back on the bed, watching as Nasir stares up at him, breathlessly panting and grinning. It's the happiest he's seen Nasir in a long time, and he leans down to taste it - drink down the joy. 

"We have to get going soon," Nasir sighs, resting his hands beside his face, smiling up at Agron. "Lots of royal duties to attend to."

"I need to go to the blacksmith and check on my father," Agron rolls his eyes, "But..." He trails off, uncertain. 

"But what? Do I have to stay home all day?" Nasir grumbles, narrowing his eyes. 

"No, of course not. You can do whatever you want," Agron rolls over onto his stomach, propping himself up on his elbows, "I wanted to ask if we are coming out."

"Coming out?" Nasir smirks slowly, "I think everyone knows we're gay."

"I meant," Agron reaches over, trailing his fingers down Nasir's stomach, "about the baby."

"Oh." Nasir looks down to where Agron is tracing over his belly button through the thin fabric of his shirt. "It's getting kind of hard to hide. I think people have started to notice as well, with all the thick cloaks and the hiding."

"Yeah, would be nice to finally announce it. Everyone will be thrilled, but," Agron raising his eyes, cheeks a little flushed, "it’s up to you. It's your body."

"Your baby."

"Our baby." Agron grins, laying his lips onto the furthest swell of Nasir's stomach. 

"I think we should tell people," Nasir ghosts his fingers through Agron's hair, "I want to wear my clothes again and not act like we're ashamed of it.”

"I agree."

Agron rests his cheek against Nasir, staring up at him adoringly. Even with his human ear, he can hear the steady heartbeat of the baby inside of him. It drives Agron nuts a little, feeling the little life they've created, knowing the baby is coming soon - going to be its own little life. 

"Okay," Agron sighs dramatically as he pushes himself up, straightening down his tunic. "We have to get moving."

Nasir stares up at Agron expectantly, holding his hands out. He looks unimpressed as Agron raises an eyebrow, grin growing. He means it teasingly, really, but it still amuses him to no end that his little dancer husband is weighed down, full of life and rosy in the prettiest way. He finally relents though, bends down to wrap his arm around Nasir’s waist and tug him to his feet. 

“Agron,” Nasir pauses him, wrapping his fingers cold and firm around his wrist, “I don’t want Duro around unless he’s calm. We don't need any rash actions today."

"I'll take care of it," Agron leans forward to kiss Nasir's cheek gently, "Relax today."

He's gone with a swish of his cloak and a thrown grin, dimples denting his cheeks. 

\- - -

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Pietros snaps, nearly having to run to keep up with the retreating prince. "Duro!"

Duro keeps moving, pushing people out of the way as he retreats from the royal couple's tent. He can still hear the resonating sound of Agron chastising him, shooting him down again. When will Duro ever get it right? How long will he have to life in Agron's shadow, always the lesser brother, the weaker of the two?

"Duro!" Pietros skids in front of the taller man, cutting him off with both hands on the prince's shoulders. 

"What do you want, Pietros?" Duro snaps, sliding his hands between the other man's, shoving him away. 

"What the fuck was that all about?" Pietros asks, curling his arms over his chest. "Disrespecting him like that in front of that old fucking geezer? Agron and Nasir don't deserve that from you, especially now."

"Nothing. I'm just hungover. Leave me alone." Duro goes to walk away again when Pietros grabs his arm. It’s a tug of war for a minute before Duro manages to get away, stalking back towards the center of the town.

"Okay well, are you and Auctus still coming over after dinner?" Pietros scurries to catch back up with him, nearly bypassing as Duro pulls short. 

"No, we're not." Duro's tone is vicious, sharp as a few peasants walk by, heads pointed to the ground. "And honestly, I'm over the whole orgy thing. If you want to get gang banged by Barca and Auctus, fine, but I'm out."

Pietros' hand connects solidly to Duro's cheek, the sound resonating in the small opening between two tents. His chest heaves as he stares up at Duro, barely having to crane his neck, but it's never been more apparent - the size difference between them, the rippling of Duro's shoulders as he squares off. 

"I don't fucking care who you are," Pietros spits, "you do not get to talk to me like that!"

"I think you forget exactly who I am," Duro snarls, standing taller, but Pietros just shakes his head. 

"I know who you are, and I know this bullshit act you pull every time you get hurt," Pietros cups the sides of Duro's face, leans in close, "Tell me what's wrong. Stop acting out like this."

"Auctus and I are over," Duro mutters, eyes downcast, "I pissed him off."

"Why? What happened?" Pietros strokes Duro's hair gently, nuzzling against him. "Talk to me."

"Why isn't anyone mourning him? He's my father." Duro whimpers, leaning his head down on Pietros' shoulder. "He's our father."

"Oh Duro," Pietros sighs, fingers still tight in his hair, "Babe, what are you doing to yourself?"

"We are just like him if we let him die," Duro chokes, "Why doesn't anyone care if he dies?"

"We do care. We do, but nothing can erase what Gerulf has done to us, to this family." Pietros pulls back, gently brushing a few stray tears from Duro's cheek, "We had no choice."

"And no one will cry for him when he's dead, no one will mourn him," Duro mutters, "and what will I do? Once Nasir has the baby, Agron will be so caught up in all that shit. And who will care if I fall to the wayside?"

"I care. I will care." Pietros lays his lips against Duro's temple, stroking his face. "Listen to me, I have a story to tell you."

He leads Duro down, lets him lean against the wall of a nearby tent, wraps his arms tightly around Duro's shoulders. 

"I never knew my father. He was some phantom that my mother was sold to. I remember, our people mocked her, hated my mother for having a child that wasn't full Pythonissan. I was a mutt, impure, unwanted."

Pietros continues to stroke his fingers through Duro's curls, voice soft. 

"But not everyone thought so. There was a woman, Fatin, the queen of all of Pythonissa who took us in, didn't let us starve."

"Nasir's mother?" Duro asks, voice scratchy.

"Mhm. She was beautiful, looked just like her son. She used to have this long, beautiful hair and Nasir would sit behind her, brushing it over and over with this tiny comb. He used to love it, listening to her sing to him."

Pietros smiles, bitter and sad. 

"She saw my mother for what she was - a product of our lives. I was a causality, but a blessing. Fatin took us in when no one else would, put my mother in a high place - her lady in waiting."

Sighing, Pietros leans his cheek on Duro's shoulder, staring at the wilting grass around them. 

"When I was four, Nasir three, something happened. I'm not sure why, but there was a fight in the town we had stopped in. Some men wanted something and Fatin denied them, turned them away. They tackled her to the ground, threw her down even with Nasir in her arms. She tried to push him away, but he was too scared."

Pietros' voice breaks, sniffling lightly. 

"I remember my mother's voice, the way she pushed past me. She got Nasir out but they caught her, forced her down on her knees. 

Nasir's arms were clammy when they wrapped around me, yanked me down to hide my face. I could hear it though, Fatin's scream, my mother's cry. The blood splattering onto the ground, and then Mika and Jem were there, picking us up. We were running."

"Pietros," Duro murmurs, reaching up to gently kiss a tear from Pietros' cheek. 

"I hated Nasir for so long. I was so jealous of him, of his family, his talent. He was everyone’s prize, _the jewel of all of Pythonissa_." Pietros cranes his face up, looks at Duro with clear but watering eyes. "But I loved him, so fucking much. How can you not? He saved me from watching her die, from watching her be executed. He never cared that I was lower, unworthy to be in his company."

"He loves you very much," Duro soothes, tracing his thumb along Pietros' jaw. 

"I know, but I never realized it. Not until I was fourteen. We had grown up as brothers, sharing the same wagon, the same lessons. And then one day, we stopped in this one town. It was a brutish type, like here, and Kallistos decided it was time for me to serve my real purpose."

Pietros looks back down at his hands, wrapped around Duro's bicep. 

"There was this man, huge with a beard and this chest that seemed to reach the very sky. He wanted me, wanted to buy me. The first time, you can charge more, Kallistos knew you can charge more and I was so scared. I had never even been touched by anyone else, let alone given away like this.

But Nasir, he saw the way I must have been shaking, how afraid and disgusted I was. He looked like such a child next to him, so short and still soft. Nasir didn't care though, climbed right up into the man's lap and got all of his attention, made the man pay twice the amount for himself than he was willing to pay for me."

There is a long pause then, Pietros staring blurry eyed down at the contrast of their skin, unable to go on. Finally, though, he clears his throat and continues, voice raw. 

"He was a child, a prince - the protected one, cherished above all others. And yet, he took on that giant - sacrificed himself for me. And I laid there that night in our wagon, listening for him to come home. He didn't cry when he came in, didn't moan or whimper. He just laid down next to me and kissed me on the forehead, and do you know what he said to me?"

Pietros looks up at Duro then, mouth pulled into a bitter smile. 

"What?" Duro asks softly. 

"He told me, "One more year, Pietros, one more year of safety." Pietros strokes Duro's face again, holding his jaw. "You see; I hadn't realized until that moment that I was not the same as my mother. I was not Nasir's maid, his companion by responsibility alone. I was his brother, his family, not by blood by forged by something stronger. By love."

Duro leans into the touch, lets Pietros' soft words surround him, comfort him. 

"I know the loss of your mother hurt you, and now it feels as if everything is falling apart because your father had to be dealt with this way. But you are not insignificant, Duro. You are loved, so fucking much. You are a prince, but you are more than that. You are Agron's brother. _Nasir's_ brother. You're a cousin, a friend. You are someone's lover. Auctus loves you. I love you."

Pietros lays his lips gently against Duro's, pulling back with a gentle smile. 

"You are needed, now more than ever. Who do you think is going to be babysitting that little runt when Agron and Nasir are busy fucking like rabbits?" Pietros laughs a little. 

"Yeah," Duro nods, shaking his head as he exhales a little. "You know they've never going to stop."

"Probably doing it right now," Pietros rolls his eyes, "But hey, listen to me, okay? Don't you ever think you are less than what you are, and when you get feeling like this, you just need to come to me, okay? We're in this together."

"I know." Duro rubs his hands over his face, peeking out between his fingers. "I was a pretty big asshole, huh?"

"You are," Pietros nods, laughing a little as he nudges the other man, "but thankfully I'm pretty sure everyone will forgive you."

"Do you forgive me?" Duro asks, pulling Pietros towards him, licking gently at his lips. Pietros hums considering, lets Duro's tongue slip into his mouth, dragging his hand down over Duro's chest. 

"I suppose," Pietros pulls back, "but you can make it up to both me and Auctus tonight if you come over."

Duro smirks slowly, pulling Pietros back into one more wet kiss before releasing him. 

"We'll be there."

\- - - 

Melitta washes her hands slowly, eases the soap between her fingers, traces over her knuckles, and down onto her palms. It gives the prince time to settle on the bed, helped down by Pietros' firm hand around his shoulders and Naevia's on his waist. They make an interesting pair, the three of them. All have been shoved into adulthood, had to stand terrible tests to secure their future. Naevia who has the family she earned. Nasir who is starting his. And Pietros, who is yet to find his true place in the world. 

"You look well. Are you eating better?" Melitta asks, turning and drying her hands on a clean towel. 

"Trying to," Nasir sighs, relaxing back against his pillow, fingers working on the buttons down the front of his shirt. He's wearing one of his own, usually used for sleeping, but the thin fabric stretches taut over him, no longer loose and comfortable. He is thankful for the life that grows inside of him, feels blessed by it every day, and yet he longs for his old body. Wishes he could still see his feet, be able to sink into the soft fabric of his thinnest pants without the fabric stretching beyond its capacity.

"He eats now that he can," Pietros spits, looking unimpressed at his nails. 

Nasir rolls his eyes over to his friend, sharing a look with him. It's not a kept secret between them that they had both waited for the day that Gerulf was knocked from his throne. In fact, they had both spent hours at night thinking about it, plotting how they could disguise their magic. It was a blessing that Agron had returned when he had.

Leaning over him, Melitta wraps a long cord around Nasir's waist, measuring it snugly across his navel. She makes a considering noise, reaching back to write it down, before measuring across Nasir's hips. When she gets low enough, her gaze flickers up to Nasir's face, mouth pursed. 

"And these bruises?" Melitta asks, staring at the fingerprint size dark marks on Nasir's hips, trailing down to his thighs. She can see the blossoming of a red and violet mark on his pelvis. 

"I-" Nasir can feel the flush growing across his cheeks. He knows Melitta is older than him, even though she does not look it, and he feels a sort of motherly love from her. Thus, Nasir can't get the words out to explain, not when she looks at him knowingly. 

"He won't be able to be so rough for much longer," Melitta shakes her head, letting Nasir lay back again, "Agron's going to have to learn constraint. You're not in a state to be pounded into the mattress."

"He didn't do it on purpose. I...I asked for it," Nasir cringes as both Naevia and Pietros smother their grins, chastised as Melitta shoots them a look. 

"The longer your pregnancy goes on, the more the baby develops, the more precarious your position." Melitta explains, jotting down a few more things. "You've grown three inches in a week!"

"Is that bad?" Nasir takes Naevia's hand in his.

"No, but the baby is growing very quickly," Melitta frowns a little, "I'm not sure how capable you are going to be to travel."

"We have wagons. We'll go slow, if we need to, or have Nasir go within his own party." Naevia reassures. "Agron has already spoken to Spartacus about it."

"The elders don't believe I've been pregnant for this long," Nasir inhales slowly, annoyance showing, "and yet I'm fucking huge. How does that make sense?"

"People want to believe what they want to believe," Pietros slumps back down into a chair, legs spread. "Fucking idiots."

Nasir stays silent, lets Melitta press against his stomach, careful with her fingertips as she ghosts them up over Nasir's chest. She can feel the small kitten kicks against her palm, baby growing stronger it seems every day. Melitta knows it's the magic, knows it's uncontrollable now that Agron is back. Maybe if they had stayed together the whole time, maybe the surge of magic, of power wouldn't have happened. Now, it's like a wave of it has hit them, pushing Nasir's body to the brink. 

"You need to rest," Melitta frowns, "I'm worried about how this is progressing."

"Is something wrong?" Nasir leans his head up, stares down at where Melitta's hands are ghosting over the hidden curve of his hips. "Is something wrong with the baby?"

"No, not yet." Melitta shakes her head, "but I'm concerned. You need to make sure you're not getting too stressed or overexerting yourself. With this being your first pregnancy and the size of the child, I'm afraid that you may be put on bed rest much sooner than other pregnancies."

"Bed rest?" Nasir's eyes widen, "I'm getting ready to be crowned a consort. I can't just lay around."

"For your safety and the baby's, you may have to." Melitta sits down, gently taking Nasir's wrist between her fingers to measure his pulse. 

Nasir worries his bottom lip between his teeth, squeezing Naevia's fingers. He had not thought of what all would go into this, had not considered that his small frame may not be the best suitable to hold Agron’s child. The jokes and humor about the baby being a giant now fall away as Nasir worries for it, concerned on his own ability to support this life. 

“Are you still having cravings?” Melitta asks, leveling Nasir with a placating look. 

“No, not so much,” Nasir smiles a little, “I have been eating raw meat though, in the solitude of my own tent. Agron would see me well supplied.”

“Mood swings? Aches? Pains?” Melitta rattles off, looking down to jot a few notes. 

“Just sore,” Nasir shrugs, “but there is something else. I just, I’m not sure if it’s normal.”

“What is it?” Melitta’s concerned gaze nearly steals all of Nasir’s courage from him, shyly lowering his eyes. 

“It’s just that,” he pauses, blush staining his cheeks. He can’t raise his eyes and see his friends’ expressions, won’t put himself on display like that. 

“Anything you say here will be kept confidential,” Melitta reassures, “I just want to keep a close eye on everything about this pregnancy. It’s for your best interest if you tell me everything.”

“I do have a craving,” Nasir says slowly, twisting his fingers together, “but it’s not for food.”

“What is it for?” Melitta knows she’s going to have to pry it out of him. 

“It’s just that ever since he’s gotten back, well, my senses have been going crazy,” Nasir explains practically, “with the magic and the Wolf Festival. I think my powers have been growing since Agron’s are depleting. It may go back to normal after tonight, but…”

He glances up, face red and eyes a little wide as Melitta encourages with a wave of her hand. 

"I want him," Nasir answers finally, sighing slowly, "all the time."

"His attention? His what?" Melitta asks, places her pen behind her ear. 

" _Want him._ " Nasir annunciates, "As in all the time. As in all he has to do is walk by, just the scent of him, and I'm right there. I can't even breathe sometimes when he's in the same room. All I can think about is having him in me."

"Are you saying..." Pietros can barely contain his grin, "you have a craving for dick?"

"No," Nasir shakes his head, fingertips curling tightly beside his cheeks, "I crave everything. The cock. The chest. The fucking mouth and his biting. The shit he can do with his hands. You have no idea. Sometimes I think I could come just from the way he looks at me."

"Oh my god," Naevia and Pietros dissolve into uproarious laughter, leaning into one another. 

"It's not funny!" Nasir snaps, turning on them, "Imagine what it must feel like for me, weighing a million pounds and all I want to do is roll over like a fucking bitch in heat for him."

"Both of you stoppit!" Melitta snaps, squaring her shoulders, "No patient of mine will be made to feel bad for his symptoms." She turns sympathetically to Nasir, patting his hand. "It's perfectly normal for you to have these sorts of feelings towards your husband."

"Is it? Is it normal?" Nasir's tone turns sharp. "It's so fucking hard sometimes, to be sitting in some stupid fucking meeting about taxes or cattle or god forbid hunting grounds and all I can think of is sinking under the table and pulling him into my mouth." That earns him a scandalous gasp from Naevia and Pietros. "And do you want to know what's the worst?" Nasir is turning a little hysterical. "Someone is always around! Someone is always coming into the tent or needing one of us. I can't even get properly fucked without an audience."

"Nasir," Melitta begins placating, reaching forward to lay her hand on his stomach. 

"It's like a fever," Nasir slumps back into the pillows, heels dragging in the sheets, "like an itch that I can't fucking scratch unless he's pounding into me. The type of holding you down, wild, inhibition sex. We can't do that now, with this fucking huge stomach."

"Nasir, sweetie," Melitta sighs, petting her cool hand over Nasir's arm, "It's alright. Have you told Agron about this?"

"No," Nasir whines a little, "I'm afraid."

"Afraid of Agron?" Pietros cuts in, rolling his eyes. "Is this still an on-going fight?"

"Not afraid of him," Nasir rolls his eyes, "Afraid of what he'll think. Suddenly he's king and I want to jump him every time he's within ten feet of me? He's going to think I'm some power hungry-"

"I honestly think that Agron will be fine with any attention you give him," Naevia replies, smiling a little, "and besides, it's not like Agron has shot into royalty and you're just an ogling farm boy. You're his husband, his consort."

Nasir sighs, shaking his head. He knows it's a dumb fear, silly really, considering what happened this morning. The slow, perfect way Agron's mouth had worked over him, over and over as his fingers pressed in deep. He had wrung Nasir out, reduced him down to a sobbing and leaking mess, only to soothe it all away the moment Nasir slipped from being able to consent. Agron had kissed his face, eased him back into his mentality, praised him even as Nasir's legs shook and his eyes stared glazed up at his husband. 

"I think," Melitta pats Nasir's hand, "you should let Agron know about these cravings, _but_ remember what I told you. You need to be careful, no bruising, no fucking on your back, no legs up."

"How far up? Because I'm pretty flexible," Nasir tries to lift his legs, only managing to get them only a few inches. Melitta answers him with a stern look, raising her eyebrow. 

"No rough sex. No on your back. And do not get on your knees."

Nasir sends her a pout, but nods. He knows she's right, even if that limits his extracurricular activities. If it has to be done to keep the baby safe, then Nasir resigns himself to suffer. 

\- - - 

Agron can feel the leather biting into his skin, straps that cut into him, bulge around the thick cut of his chest, his arms. It barely can contain his power, a vicious grip that keeps him steady, surrounds him and controls him. He knows what he must look like, tall and bronze from the summer, stubble turned course around the cut of his jaw. Nasir had rubbed his lips over it this morning, moaning at the scratch on his neck, the sharp pinpricks against his sensitive thighs. It had come as a shock to the prince how incredibly turned on Nasir can get from simple things, the brushing of Agron's thigh between his, the way Nasir's fingers could barely fit around his arm. He seems to drown in it, always wanting more and more, a thing that Agron is always willing to give him. 

The new royal armor is more intricate now, worthy of a king. There are carvings etched in the thick coins holding the straps together - wolves, moons, and one of a lone silhouette, the outlines of a dancer in mid stride. They tell Agron's story, and more will be added as time goes on - a final marker if he should fall in battle. Agron can't help but feel the weight of it, the responsibility settling in. The crown will be the final one, the last stone added to the burden already on his shoulders. 

"Your majesty, I would have a word." Castus slips into the tent, looking somber and poised for a man that seems to constantly be grinning. Agron doesn't bother to acknowledge him, lets Lugo fasten one last strap down, the one that cuts thick across his stomach, fastening tightly in the back. 

"Melitta has given her report to the elders," Castus continues cautiously, "It seems that with her account and those of many witnesses, it proves the baby is yours. Nasir will not be questioned again after tonight."

Agron scoffs lightly, reaching up to adjust an arm guard. It's carved intricately, laid on top of scarlet fabric and fastened with a long, black leather cord down the inside. It is meant to steady the wrists for mighty blows, the type that knock heads from shoulders. Agron is practiced in the move, an expert some may say. 

"I gave my own testimony as well," Castus steps closer, hands clasped before him, "as a witness to his pregnancy in your absence."

"And I suppose you want me to thank you?" Agron turns his head, grin vicious even without the showing of fangs. 

Castus doesn't falter exactly under the look, but he does pause, drawing himself in tight and sure. He will not let himself be intimidated by this princely dog. He has a right to be here. 

"Leave us." Agron waves his hand, turning fully to face the pirate. 

" _There is vat of water outside of tent if you wish to drown the sea rat_ ," Lugo mutters in Alptra's native tongue, releasing Agron's armor, " _Lugo will get rid of the body for you._ "

"Thank you, Lugo," Agron smirks, waiting until the tent is shut before he turns back to Castus. "What is it that you want?"

"I want protection for my people," Castus answers, eyeing the prince closely. "Heracleo's decision does not reflection the rest of my people's. I would not see us slaughtered for one man's mistake."

"I was never clear how you and your pack of fish came to be under my father's protection," Agron shifts, "What did my father pay Heracleo and you to become his bitch?"

"Our ship came ashore not far from the town of Cupiditas. Your father was there with a few of his men and saw our need," Castus explains, being careful not to falter under the intense stare he's receiving. "He offered us position as guard until Spring and repairs upon our vessel can be finished."

"So you came to our city and what?" Agron raises a brow, mouth still caught in a smirk, "Fell to order? Found place under heel?"

"Gerulf was generous with us," Castus tries to be reassuring, "He offered many things for our loyalty and obedience - money, drink, pleasures."

"One of those things being my husband," Agron states, no hesitation in the bluntness of his words. It burns him up inside, the thought of it, the acidity thick on his tongue at the idea of this fucking sea rat's hands on Nasir.

"The king wanted extra protection for Nasir. I offered to become his personal guard," Castus explains, fingers resting within the leather of his belt. "My only goal was to protect him and offer reassurance in time of need."

"Your only goal?" Agron scoffs, moving to pull a random dagger into his hand. He runs his thumb down the blade, checking it for sharpness before he turns back to the pirate, the mocking gone from his face. "And how long were you in his company that fucking him became part of that goal?"

Castus' eyes widen fractionally at the words, straying down to gauge the sharpness of the blade as well. He has never been without words though, his cunning being one of his strongest skills. 

"When I was assigned to Nasir's company, I was told he was soon to become a widower. I saw what your absence did to him, the pain, and I wanted to help him through it. To give him distraction."

"Not a full day's ride from here and you assumed I would die in battle, and what? You would fall into my place?" Agron asks, tilting his head slightly. 

There is a rage boiling deep in his chest, brewing and burning to get out. He has not felt this sort of anger in a while, not since he got back, not since he found out what Gerulf had been doing in his absence. It makes him want to break the man before him down, hurt him over and over again until there is nothing left. 

"It wasn't like that," Castus puts his hands up. He can see the crackle of fury under Agron's skin. 

"Tell me then, what was it like?" Agron steps towards Castus, predatory shifting of muscles that is more animal than man. Even without the powers he usually possesses, Agron is still a beast. "What was it like knowing Nasir was hurting because he wanted me back? When he told you not to, pushed you away? How did it feel when my father took your money, let you pay for another man's husband?"

"I didn't pay," Castus shakes his head, heart beginning to thrum in his chest, "I only wanted to be there for him. He was hurting and I wanted to make it go away."

"And you thought you were worthy of him? You thought you could fill a place that wasn't even fucking vacated?" Agron snaps dangerously, his control very quickly unraveling. 

He can still see Nasir's face when he had been dragged from the tent, painted and offered before their people like a piece of fucking jewelry. Agron can't erase the tremble in his fingers, the tears, the way his lips had pressed so gentle and fearful against Agron's. 

"It wasn't like the attention was ill received." Castus smirks, voice turning vicious. "He wanted me, ached to give in. It was just his blind loyalty to you that made him stop, his pity. I saw the way he battled with himself, drawn to me, begging for me to settle between his legs." Castus' voice dips. "Doesn't it keep you up at night? Knowing how much he wanted me in your place? How he thought about me fucking him in your bed? Moaning my name?"

Agron doesn't think, doesn't need to, not anymore, reaches up with fingers sharp and teeth bared. He wraps them around Castus' windpipe, slamming him back until the pirate's back collides with the pillar of the tent, leather shuddering under the force of it. He leans in close, growling and eyes wild. 

"Shut your fucking mouth," Agron snarls, so close his nose brushes Castus'. "You laid hands on my husband, my unborn child. You didn't see a man in pain. You saw what you wanted, and when he pushed you away, you still pursued him."

"He liked the game," Castus shakes his head best he can, "the chase of it."

"The only reason you draw breath right now is because you are not mine to kill. If Nasir had given the order for the offense against him, your corpse will be rotting before sun fall," Agron spits in Castus' face, grip tightening, robbing the smaller man of breath. "Do not think that your words mean anything here. My father told you to take what you want, and you wanted Nasir."

"He wanted-" Castus tries to choke out, but Agron just tightens his grip. 

"Did you honestly think you could get away with assaulting my husband? My consort?" Agron smirks slow, thumb digging into Castus' Adam's apple, "I should cut your fucking balls from your body and give them to Nasir, let it stand as entertainment for his crowning."

Agron lifts his knee, digs it in between Castus' thighs, pinning him back to the wood that way. Pain crawls hot and humid up Castus' spine, making him cry out, his eyes already watering. Agron doesn't relent, even as he leans in closer, making sure to have the pirate's undivided attention. 

"This is your final warning," Agron whispers, "You cross me again or my family and I will torture you in ways you can’t even imagine, pain so extreme the only out will be you begging for death."

And like that, Agron is gone, the only tell that he was ever there the subtle swish of the tent's door. 

\- - - 

It's much like the first time they came to court, newly married with wide eyed onlookers and trembling hands. They stand in a small tent nearby the main royal chambers, finishing touches on outfits and hastily gulped down cups of wine. It is important for them to appear put together, concerned about Gerulf but strong. At least, that's the mantra that both Spartacus and Mira have been back and forth chanting the past twenty minutes. 

"Pietros, tug my hair again and I'm going to pull your fingers off your hands," Nasir snaps, ducking out his best friend's hold. 

"I'm just trying to fix it!' Pietros replies, eyes narrowed, "It's not my fault that pregnancy has suddenly given you a million curls."

"I doubt anyone at this court is going to care," Nasir adjusts the draped fabric over his torso, effectively hiding some of the curve of his body. Instead of pregnant, he looks swaddled. 

"They're too mystified by the beauty of your face to notice anything else," Agron grins over at his husband, dimples showing. 

Nasir blushes under the compliment, nodding his head in a little bow. Any kind word from Agron can give Nasir a shimmer of pleasure, can bring a flush to his face, left feeling lighter than he has in days. It's not fair really, but Nasir doesn't ever want it to stop.

"The key to this announcement is strength," Spartacus begins, "You need to seem united and calm. The peasants want to be reassured that everything is going to continue as planned."

"Spartacus," Agron groans, adjusting the crown on his head for the last time. "We've got this." The metal is twisted gold, bones and twigs twisted together with ivy and silver moon charms. It's not as garish as his father's, fits the son not the title, but they were all awed at Lugo's quick work. Later, they will have an official crowning ceremony at the castle, but this is a quick act - something of necessity, not formality.

"We only have one shot with this," Spartacus eyes the pair, "Don't fuck it up by getting angry or losing your control."

"I've been training for this day my whole life. I know what they want to hear," Agron reassures, gripping Spartacus' shoulders, "Now, can I have a fucking minute with my husband?"

"Fine, but hurry. We are losing daylight and there is still much that needs to be gone over before the festival." Mira chimes in, wrapping her arm around Spartacus' waist. 

They group moves to leave, whispering to one another and sharing looks. This is one of the biggest announcements that has happened in a while here - a new royal family complete with a baby – and though there is joy to be had at such an announcement, there is also caution. Gerulf only lays silenced, not from this world yet. 

Pietros lingers for just a moment longer than the rest, eyes narrowing at Agron. He walks over until he’s standing in front of the taller man, finger pointed in his face.

"Don't you go running your hands through his hair or smudging him up like you usually do," Pietros threatens, "I worked hard on putting that together. He needs to look presentable, not like you just ravaged him."

"You have my word," Agron holds up his hand, grinning as Pietros turns away with an unimpressed face, muttering to himself. 

Agron waits until the last person has left them, finally blissfully alone, before he moves back towards his husband. Standing there picking at his nails, the image of nonchalance and power, Nasir looks ever the royal in his thick coverings and jewelry. There is a stunning beauty about him though, not enhanced by the clothes. It is natural, something so perfectly Nasir that nothing in this world could ever emanate it.   
"You nervous?" Agron asks, brushing a curl from Nasir's cheek, drawing his attention.

"A little less now that I know Gerulf won't be sitting on that huge chair," Nasir smiles, blush spreading across his face. 

"Just you and me - kings now," Agron reassures, kissing Nasir's forehead before turning away to return with a wooden box in his hand. "I got you something."

"You didn't have to," Nasir's fingers trace along the solid lid, free of carvings or intricate designs. It would be plain if it weren't for the beauty of the wood itself, a deep maple, edges sharp and perfectly fit together. 

"Well, I figured after the shit Solonius said about you, I needed to prove to you and everyone else what your place is." Agron lifts the lid slowly, watching as Nasir's eyes widen in amazement. 

Settled in the cobalt fabric is a crown, perfectly circular and ornate, shimmering in the sunlight. It's carved metal, like Agron's own, gold vines twisting with flowers and jewels, a shimmer of diamonds looking like stars in the midst. It raises all up to a small moon in the center, a silver plate to match Agron's own. 

"Oh," Nasir gasps, fingertips grazing over the top of it. "Agron, this is...this is too much."

"It's not permanent. You'll get a bigger one when we do the actual crowning but," Agron lifts it from its nesting, raising it up as he settles it on Nasir's head, "I thought it would be a satisfactory stand in."

"I don't even know what to say," Nasir whispers, blinking slowly. 

"Say," Agron tilts Nasir's chin up, lowering down to kiss him. He drags his lips slowly over Nasir's, tastes him with a gentle flick of his tongue. "That you will be my consort and stay by my side forever."

"As if it's even a question," Nasir murmurs, fingers curling on the back of Agron's neck. It presses his stomach tightly to Agron's hips, the fluttering kicks from within resonating between both of them. 

"I think the baby approves of the new crown," Agron grins, slipping his fingers under the fabric to caress Nasir's bare skin. 

"I think it knows its father and loves you just as much as I do." Nasir nips at Agron's chin, grinning up at him. 

From the corner of the tent, a voice interrupts the pair, drawing their attention. Both Agron and Nasir rolls their eyes to the intruder, matching scowls pulling down their faces. 

"Hey lovebirds." Tove leans his head in the doorway, grin stretching across his face, "You're needed front and center. The elders are getting restless."

"We're coming," Agron rolls his eyes even harder, ignoring his cousin in favor of leaning his forehead back down onto Nasir's. "I swear when this is all over, we are going to spend a whole day locked in our tent. No distractions. No interruptions."

"Only a day?" Nasir bites his bottom lip, trying to smother his grin. "That's how long you can go?"

"Now you're just getting greedy." Agron's hands slide down Nasir's back, gripping his ass and drawing him back when Nasir moves to pull away. He lays a series of wet, biting kisses into his neck, listening to Nasir's breath hitch. "We've got a country to run."

"I suggest we get going then," Nasir presses his fingertips into Agron's stomach, pushing him back. "Pietros will be pissed if you 'smudge me' up."

"I can think of a lot of other things that I want to do to you right now," Agron's grin is lewd as he leads Nasir forward and out into the bright sunshine.

The crowd falls silent as the royal couple enter, heads held high and hands clasped between them. They’re both wearing matching cloaks, crimson and wolf fur lined - a sign of their status. Heads bow on both sides, peeking through eyelashes and brows to watch as Agron leads Nasir forward, turns on his heel to present him forward.

“Loyal people of Alptra,” Agron addresses, holding their joint hands up, “I come to you on this joyous day to address you as your future king - a burden and a right that I do not take with a light hand.”

Agron turns towards Nasir next, bowing his head deeply. “But I am blessed, beyond any other man, not to be standing before you alone.”

Nasir lowers himself, head tilted down in as deep of a bow as he can manage. Agron holding him steady as he raises him up again, kissing the back of his hand, turning back to address the crowd.

“My father saw the flaws in our great nation,” Agron continues, “and sought to make us stronger, fierce enough to stand behind our emblem - the mighty wolf. He thought it best to tear us down to rebuild, to rise from the ashes of our previous lives and forge together a better weapon.”

Spartacus nods to the side of the crowd, encouraging him on. He’s done well so far, kept it together, and the people watch him raptly.

“I have seen our people struggle, suffer under rules and laws aimed to help, but have brought us down. Caused a loss of heart, a loss of faith,” Agron stares out at the crowd, head held high. “But I would not see our people held under heel anymore. That is why I stand before you today to announce the abolishment of my father’s laws imposed upon you when I went to war.”

The crowd’s roar is deafening, hands clapping loudly above their heads as they cry out in happiness. The hope blazes in their eyes, the sight of a new future.

“No longer will a man or woman’s worth be held by what they can do with their hands,” Agron calls above the crowd, “Your purpose is your own. If you wish to take up arms and join us, then I will invite you into my guard with open arms. If your hands aim to toil the earth or create, then may the goddess send you her blessings.”

The roar is deafening, and Agron raises his hand, quieting the crowd. He has to wait a few minutes, listening to the screams turn murmurs before he can speak again. Turning to Nasir, he eyes him carefully, waiting for Nasir’s reassuring smile before he continues.

“My father’s last wish before his poisoning was that faith be restored in my husband.” Agron’s smile is soft, gentle as he raises Nasir’s knuckles back to his lips before he addresses the crowd again. “You do not know Nasir the way that I do. You have not seen his strength in the way that I have, his joys, his pain, his undeniable ability to see me at my best even when I feel as if I am at my worst. But you know him in other ways. Nasir was the one to lower himself on the very first day he arrived here, healing a woman’s baby from the brink of death. He has opened his arms and his heart to you, allowed himself to be the strong one in your time of need, the light when it felt as if darkness was the only option.”

Agron’s eyes trail back to Nasir, twinkling slightly as he addresses him now, voice turned softer.

“I have spent my lifetime waiting for someone, the piece that would not only make this country whole, but also complete me. There is no one more worthy of title or position than the man before me.”

“Agron,” Nasir holds back his tears, keeps his strength intact as he raises on his toes, kissing his husband gently.

“That is why,” Agron announces, “I would see faith in outsiders restored. Magic is no longer banned, as it has shown its true potential here – helped save our men and women from an ultimate fate.”

The crowd calls out again, hands clapping. In front of them, Spartacus and Duro nod their heads in approval, behind, Mira, Naevia, and Pietros scream enthusiastically, holding onto one another. It has been such a long time since the people have cried out in joy instead of fear, instead of pain.

Agron leans his cheek against Nasir’s, voice a whisper – heard even above the roar around them.

“Your choice, my love.”

Nasir knows what he means, can feel the flurry of motion in his abdomen, baby kicking hard. It’s edging on painful as Nasir rests his palm against it, wills it to be soothed. The baby seems to only retaliate even more, stretching, and Nasir cannot keep this to himself anymore. It’s hinging on dangerous, the constant magic it takes to hide, to skew people’s perspectives.

“Dearest and most worthy Alptra people!” Nasir calls after, drawing his strength from Agron’s warm hand in his, “When my father and my people first arrived here, I will not lie, I lived in fear. I did not think that my heart would ever grow full of love for you, for your king.” Nasir glances at Agron, smiling gently. “I came from a world of pleasure, of magic and traveling. I did not think that I would ever find a home amongst wolves, kept in their den, married to their highest son.”

The crowd stares raptly as Nasir addresses them, frozen in place. Nasir has never had the opportunity to truly speak as himself, to address them as a royal really should. They do not know what to expect from the small, dark skinned prince.

“You have opened my heart though, welcomed me to your homes, your families. I have seen the strength and honor within each and every one of you. You have made me proud to be part of this great kingdom, shown me kindness when it felt that the rest of the world would have turned me away. There will always be a place for you at my table, beside me,” Nasir squeezes Agron’s fingers tightly as he draws himself up. “I only wish that I can show you the same loyalty that you have shown me, that you will see me as a worthy companion to your now present king.”

He lets the crowd die down again, cheers turned to murmurs. Across the way, Pietros’ shining eyes meet Nasir’s, love over pouring as he nods his head, offering him reassurance and strength. He knows that Nasir is afraid, but he doesn’t show it, shines before the crowd.

“We have lost our king. Gerulf may never recover from his poisoning, but we are not left wanting.” Nasir cups his hand over his stomach, fingers curling in the fabric, “I would have our eyes turned not the past but to the future – to the potential that this family still holds. Agron and I promise to do our best to rebuild this great nation and restore your faith in the royal line.”

Nasir lets the fabric slip through his grasp, exposing the gray embroidered shirt underneath, tiny stars and moons crescendoing up to his shoulder. The fabric fits snuggly over his waist, a clear indication of what he is about to say even before the words have passed his lips. Above it all, Nasir can already hear the gasps from the crowd.

“It is with the greatest joy that King Agron and I would like to announce our first heir.”

The roar is deafening, the sound echoing out of the tent and into the crowd surrounding as thousands of voices call out at once. Everyone is gathered there, a flood of people who press closer to try and see the royal couple. Flowers are thrown forward, landing upon the platform that they stand upon. Songs and prayers are offered up, called out in voices off key but with such love that it seems they split the sky with their sound.

It comes unexpected. The first knees hit the ground and it’s suddenly a rippling effect as the Alptra nation, warriors and fighters, fall forward, heads bowed and fists pounding to their breasts. The calls and screams from before slowly quiet. It’s silent except for the steady beat, the heart of a nation calling out to the two men left standing before them, pressed tightly to one another.

“Look, Nasir,” Agron murmurs into the younger man’s ear, lips brushing the skin gently, “they adore you, bow before you. You are their high consort, beloved bearer of their princes and princesses, of their hope restored one again.”

“Not just for me, my king. They kneel for you,” Nasir whispers back, eyes shimmering a gold as he grins. Agron kisses his mouth roughly before he turns back to the crowd, a new determination settling in his shoulders.

“Prepare yourselves, brothers and sisters of the wolf and moon.” Agron raises their joined hands, “Tonight, we reclaim our birthright. Tonight, we dine on blood!”

The crowd goes wild again, chanting together one steady stream of _“Agron!”_ over and over until it feels as if the sound will swallow the world, slamming fists into chests in pure adoration. These people will not be calmed, will not be forced back into the servitude of a horrible king. They want the heir apparent, the one they are swearing their loyalty, who has their full love.

In the midst, Spartacus eyes the two royals closely, watches the joy and hope on their faces. Agron’s hand looking huge on Nasir’s swollen stomach, his eyes bright, and Nasir looking pretty and flushed next to him, round cheeks crinkled by his eyes from his large grin. It is a stark contrast to the eyes of the elders nearby, sharing glances and scowls. The Pontas pirates standing against the edges of the tent with narrowed eye and tense shoulders. One battle is won while the other stands before them, a sliver of fear already darkening the once bright horizon.

The sound is cut through by a single voice not a moment later, the words booming above the chanting as the crowd parts, gasps filling the once honoring air.

Nasir’s stomach plummets, hand clasped in Agron’s suddenly clammy as the front row opens up and a man steps forward. He’s dressed in thick furs, a mixture of blacks and browns that crisscross over his chest, held together with leather straps. His face is half obscured by a thick, dark beard, curling unkempt down onto his thick chest. Blue eyes gleam out above it, narrowed and calculating, and Nasir is certain he has seen a ghost. It seems as if Gerulf stands before him, living and breathing in all of his horror glory.

“I have heard rumors of a great magician living in these parts. Heard whispers of his great beauty and poise,” the man’s voice is gritty, words gruff, “Only to arrive here and see he’s been married off to my incorrigible nephew!”

“Uncle Dietrich!” Agron greets, hands out stretched as he steps down from the platform, embracing the man closely with a loud laugh.

"Agron," Dietrich's scarred face pulls back into a grin, the sharp cut of it melting away into rosy cheeks. "My gods, you must have grown six inches since the last time I saw you! You're a giant now!"

"It was not so long ago that you saw me," Agron snorts, pulling back and patting his hands on his uncle's shoulders. 

From behind Dietrich, a head of wild, blond curls peeks out, dressed in a leather bodice and skirt, hanging over in gray wolf fur. Nasir has only seen Saxa once, arguing with Mira loudly outside of his tent before she had kissed Mira roughly, turning to walk away. Mira had been left standing there with a gaping mouth, fingers pressed to it. 

"You might not have grown but your husband has," Saxa's eyes rove over Nasir, taking in his stretched stomach and thighs. 

"Ah, yes. And who is this little man?" Dietrich asks, raising an eyebrow. 

Agron gently reaches back, hooking his arm around Nasir's shoulders and pulling him forward, being careful to guide him down the steps. "Nasir, this is my uncle Dietrich. Uncle, this is my husband Nasir."

"It's a pleasure, your majesty." Dietrich's smirk is a mirror of Agron's own as he raises Nasir's hand, kissing the back of it. His beard tickles over Nasir's skin, but he pulls back before it can be inappropriate. 

"Prince Dietrich, Earl of the Northlands," Nasir smiles, charming and bright as always. "What brings you to our fair city?"

"Many things," Dietrich turns his head as Tove approaches, followed closely by Duro. "Son, it has been a long time. Come greet me."

"Father," Tove laughs, reaching forward to grasp him tightly. "Wonderful to see you as always."

Behind them, Nasir's eyes dart quickly to Spartacus and then to Agron, mouth settling in a grim line. Tove's warning is still hanging over them, the line skewed between who is truly meant for the throne. Nasir can see the wrinkles of tension beside Agron's eyes, mirrored in Spartacus' own. He won't let this happen though, Nasir will not let all of their hard work go down because Dietrich suddenly has decided to show up. 

"Tell me," Nasir knows how to do this, slipping out from under Agron's hold to wrap his arms around one of Dietrich's. He bats his eyelashes, easy muscle memory, "you have traveled a very far distance to come to our city. I have heard that the Northlands are beautiful, but I have not had the pleasure of visiting yet. Tell me of them?"

Agron curls his fingers tightly into fists, grits his teeth as he watches Nasir lead his uncle through the crowd and towards the sunlight. He has no choice but to follow, staring at this game, recognizing it. Agron knows what Nasir's smiles do to men, men weak who love pretty things with sparkling eyes. Nasir's hands stroke over the fur on Dietrich's cloak, laughing at something the man is saying and Agron feels like he's choking. He only stops himself from saying something because Spartacus nudges him, slightly shaking his head. It's not the time. 

"It sounds lovely," Nasir carefully brushes his hair back from his shoulder, exposing his collarbone, "You must be exhausted though. Let's see you to meal and to rest before the festival tonight."

"You are too kind," Dietrich pats Nasir's hand, pulling away from him gently, "I can see now why Gerulf and Agron both wanted you part of this family - an asset in many ways."

Nasir's expression flickers, just the corners of his smile pulling down, goosebumps breaking out over his skin. With Dietrich's face relaxing into neutral like this, he looks startlingly like Gerulf, even down to the slightly bump in his nose.

"A blessing, not a prize won," Agron cuts in, swiftly coming to Nasir's side and fingers slipping between his, squeezing. The move is territorial, protective and reassuring.

"A blessing indeed," Dietrich glances up at Agron, "A consort and an heir? It seems you are ready to take you father's place."

The group bristles, ignored by the peasants around them. It's a standoff, Agron and Nasir standing close together, flanked on either side by supporters - brothers in both blood and in loyalty. It doesn't go unnoticed. Dietrich sizes them up all up, even down to slight twitch of Spartacus' fingers near his sword.

"Relax, Agron," Dietrich sighs, shaking his head, "I did not come here to throw you from your perch or remove your title. I came here to see my dying brother and celebrate the Wolf Moon.”

The tension is so thick it feels smothering. Agron squaring off with his uncle, the phantom of echo of Gerulf. He won’t let them go down without a fight, if it comes to a war then that’s what it will, but Agron is done hiding and being subservient to another terrible man. This is their time, their hard earned time, and Agron is not afraid to do whatever it takes to hold onto it.

Nasir’s palms are sweaty, gazing slowly up at his husband, heartbeat racing. He feels sick again, stomach twisting sharply, Melitta’s voice an echo in his mind. He can’t show weakness though, can’t show any kind of tremble even though his knees are shaking. Instead, he smiles brightly up at Dietrich.

“Good, because I’ve already grown very fond of this crown.” And like that, Nasir breaks the threat, lightens the mood as Dietrich lets out a loud bark of laughter. 

“It does suite you, your majesty. Now, weren’t you saying something about food?”

\- - -

Agron has been avoiding this meeting all day, the thought of it weighing heavily on his mind. He knows that Nasir had gone to see Gerulf yesterday, slipping into the tent after the poisoning to make sure it kept and to keep up appearances. When he had returned, Nasir hadn't mentioned anything about it, though there was a heaviness in his gaze. Even laying half dead, silenced by venom, and Gerulf still manages to ruin things. 

Twenty-eight years of doing this with Gerulf, trying to be strong and failing, and he feels so much older than he is. Agron wishes somehow that this was different, that his family was stronger. When Isolde was still around, it seemed like they could one day grow into a real family. Agron wishes there was love, loyalty, a dedication to one another. But Gerulf has never been the father that Agron feels he can love, that he can look up to. Gerulf acts for Gerulf, everything for the crown.

It has come down to this, betraying one family to save another, but Agron can't imagine turning his back on Nasir, on their baby. It is a starting over for them, a new beginning filled with promise. And as much as it may surprise him, Agron finds that he’s looking forward to it, excited over their little trio blossoming.

Slipping into the medicus tent, Agron bows his head at the old man lounging before the curtain separating Gerulf from the rest of the tent. The man is quick to reply, leaning forward as much as he can from his positon upon stool. 

"You seem to be without patients," Agron looks around the empty cots, the clean bowls, "Are all the sick healed?"

"Yes, a feat of your husband," the medicus croaks, hobbling to his feet. "King Nasir has worked very hard to save our people."

"He is very talented," Agron smiles warmly, fingers trailing over an array of bottles. "You should see yourself to the festivities. I am only here to see my father and will make sure he's resting before I leave."

"Thank you, your majesty. You are very kind." The medicus moves towards the door only to turn and make sure he bows. 

Agron waits until he's sure he's gone before slipping behind the curtains, steeling his expression. Gerulf is laid on his back, eyes open and staring at the ceiling. They've cleaned him up, dressed him in a fine tunic of silk and covered him with a thick blanket, but removed his gaudy jewels and crown. His eyes, dark and untrusting, slip over to Agron, poison still thick enough that he can't move.

The tent smells sickly, sweat and herbs, unfit for his status, but Gerulf does not have a voice to complain. Taking a deep breath, Agron moves towards him, silent and stony faced. There are a million things he wants to say to his father, a million ways he wants to blame him, but the words stick in his throat. 

Gerulf eyes him carefully, squinting slightly. The fraction of motion means he'll need another dose of vampire venom, but Agron holds off on it, deciding instead to lean against the bed. 

"It must be very frustrating for you, father," Agron murmurs, a ghost of a smirk, "You laying there helpless while I stand above you, when so often it was the reverse." 

Gerulf's expression doesn't change, just a slick twitching of his cheek. 

"I used to look up at you on the throne, sitting below that huge, evil looking wolf, and fuck, I wanted to be you so much." Agron scoffs lightly, toying with a random string on the blanket. "You were everything to me. You were my king, my father. So strong and people bowed to you, worshiped at your feet."

Agron tilts his head up, stares into Gerulf's cruel eyes. "But you never saw me that way. You never saw your son, your heir. What you saw was someone to train, to make worthy. 

How many times did I fall for it? Your muttered praise one moment and the back of your hand the next? Your rages, your wraths, your terror."

Agron traces a scar down his forearm, turning to show the knotted white skin to Gerulf. Even after so long, the skin is still slightly pink around the edges. 

"Your claws did this to me when I spoke out of turn. Seven years old and you ripped me open, attacked me like I was something to hunt. 

You and your training. The blisters and burns from wielding a sword for hours, a spear for even more. Do you remember when you whipped me at fourteen? To strengthen me into a man? Even Oenomaus tried to stop you, give pause when I went from standing, to kneeling. "

The weight of these memories slows Agron's speech down, having to swallow thickly before he continues. He doesn’t want to show any emotion other than anger, resolve. Any space that Gerulf thinks he may have, he will take. 

"I've spent my whole entire life hiding away the ones I love from you. I can't even count the times that I kept Duro from you, shoving him under blankets or into tents. In the end, I suppose it never mattered. You didn't want him anyways. Why torture another son when you were already grooming me?"

"I loved you," Gerulf croaks, still weak and faint. 

"Is that what love is? Is that what I should do with my son? Hurt him until he's strong. Teach him to hate me as much as I hate you." Agron snarls, curling his lip. 

"What more did you want from me? I killed for you. I slaughtered for sport, for your enjoyment. I took your blows. I passed your tests. I rose to every fucking challenge. What is it about me that makes you hate me so much?"

Agron hates how it matters. He's spent his whole life trying to figure it out and it will stick with him forever. 

"I was always proud," Gerulf whispers, licking his dry lips. "You needed to be the best."

"You made me my worst," Agron accuses sharply, but then it feels as if the weight has finally crushed him. He sighs deeply, rubbing his hands over his face and taking a few moments to level out his breathing, scoffing into his palms. 

“It’s never going to change with you. I thought for so long, prayed that it would get better. And then with Mom-“

“Your mother was an accident,” Gerulf croaks, hand twitching beside his hip, “I didn’t know she was going to do that.”

“You sent me to tests that you knew I wasn’t going to pass. To prove that I’m the chosen son? You fucking knew if I failed that they would kill me,” Agron glares down at him, shaking his head, “She’s rotting in the ground because she saved me. You sent me to die.”

“It could have been you!” Gerulf shakes his head. 

“No, I couldn’t have. By the time you sent me there, the prophecy about Nasir had already been foretold. You knew the child had to come from a Pythonissa.” Agron snarls, not willing to let himself become caught up in lies once again. “You sent me with her because you knew that we were plotting against you. She was fucking leaving you and wanted to put me on the throne. It was easier to kill us both than to deal with it.”

“I did deal with it,” Gerulf scoffs, closing his eyes. “If I had her murdered the right way, we wouldn’t be in this mess.”

“What?” The hairs on the back of Agron’s neck begin to stand up, cold fear settling in the pit of his stomach. 

“If I was relieved of her, if she had just died with proof, you wouldn’t be standing there. I could have remarried,” Gerulf smirks faintly, “I could have had the prophesized son after all.”

Lashing out, Agron wraps his hand tightly around Gerulf’s throat, pinning him firmly back to the cot. Agron’s eyes blaze, jaw clenched tightly as he spits the words through his teeth. 

“Speak another word and see ability ripped from you. You have caused enough damage to my husband. More than I ever should have stood for.”

“And who are you, Agron?” Gerulf coughs out. “My son, my blood, my hopes and training molded into from your very first breath. You are my creation, my monster. I turned you into what you are and you will always be it. You were created to breed fear, and even if you try and overcome it, dress it up with your little witch in gold and jewels, everyone will always tremble before you.”

“That’s a lie.” Agron snaps, shaking his head. 

“Do you tremble, little wolf? Are you afraid yet? The truth is poison.” Gerulf chokes through a laugh, beady eyes widening. “But don’t worry, my son, there is something coming for you. They are coming for you, your brother, your bitch and the pup inside of him-“

The crack is deafening in the silence of the tent. Just a single sound that seems to echo over and over in the close space. Agron stares down at his hand, human and scarred from battle, still wrapped tightly around Gerulf’s throat. There is no pulse against his palm though, no fighting breath. Gerulf’s glassy eyes stare up at him, foreverly stilled. 

“Cover him up. No one will notice until tomorrow and Nasir can lie for us, go check on him first thing.” A voice murmurs from the doorway, Duro’s dark eyes shining in the dim light as he stares at his panting brother and lifeless father. 

“Duro-“ Agron chokes, half terrified that his brother is going to do something rash. 

“He killed our mother?” Duro raises his head, waits for Agron’s nod, before repeating the motion himself. “I wish then that we had killed him a hundred times, every time more than the worst.”

Duro’s eyes flood with tears and Agron is quick to wrap him in his arms, pulling his brother against his chest. They have not hugged this close in months, holding onto one another. Duro does not submit to sobbing though, instead sniffles hard and grips Agron’s back even harder. 

“We must look to protecting our family now. The one we have now that loves us and is loyal.” Agron soothes, petting Duro’s curls lovingly. 

“Yes,” Duro brushing his forehead against Agron’s, “there are only four of us now, stronger than before.”

“Four?” Agron asks, raising an eyebrow. 

“Of course. I was wrong to ever speak ill towards him,” Duro smiles a little, expression softening his whole face, “Us, Nasir, and the child. I have a nephew or niece I need to prepare for.”

And the weight of all that held Agron down while he walked towards this tent seems to slip from his shoulders, letting out a short laugh as he wraps his arm around Duro, leading him out of the tent and into the dying sunlight.

\- - - 

A metallic line of silver glides up from the waistband up the white pants, tracing the spine along his back, creating a path between Nasir's shoulder blades. Tiny jewels have been placed across his collarbones, gathered in the center like a hundred tiny, shining stars. They've dressed him simply for the elaborate paint job, a simple pair of loose white pants, the hem wrinkled as it pools around Nasir's bare feet. His hair is down, curling thick and wavy down his back, and nestled against round is his crown, a path of silver encasing him. 

Nasir has spent the rest of the day preparing for this. First, a bath in milk and honey where white veiled women had washed him, slipped sweet smelling oils through his hair. Nasir had squirmed under their touch, only nullified by recognizing both Naevia and Melitta in the mix. Next, they had allowed him to rest, drowsing in his bed surrounded by white and gray furs. The dressing had come next, fingers painting him, caressing his skin, combing out his hair and sprinkling him with glitter. 

"You look perfect." 

Agron eases his cloak up over Nasir's shoulders, fasting the moon clasp at his throat. It's cobalt with an embroidered splatter of stars around the collar, trickling down to a thin line before it flairs out again amongst the train. It's too long on Nasir, dragging long on the ground, and yet it seems to suit him. The fabric feels old, ancient velvet, and yet it's not heavy - weight settling to fight the chill.

"Thank you," Nasir turns his head to look at Agron, smiling softly. 

Behind him, Agron stands bare, gleaming slightly with oil and smelling of sharp spices. He's been rubbed down, bathed to highlight muscles, the power within him. He looks kingly, the crown on his head, the stubble inching along his jaw, and the slight smirk pulling across his face. Nasir needs to touch him suddenly, needs him desperately to tilt his head down, to kiss Nasir's nerves away.

Agron senses it, can always tell, and he rubs his fingers along Nasir's neck, uses his thumb to tilt Nasir's chin up. He kisses him slow, gradually opening Nasir's mouth with sharp bites, tongue laving over the edge of his lip. Nasir is afraid to touch him, doesn't want the telltale signs over him for everyone to know, but he can't seem to stop himself. 

Slipping his fingers down the back of Nasir's pants, Agron grips his ass, pulling him up on his toes. He can't resist it, the warm, pliable skin under his palms, the scent of him. Agron's powers are beginning to edge back in, a tickle at the back of his throat, and the ghost of his wolf yowls happily as Nasir presses against him, moaning thickly in the back of his throat. 

"Agron," Nasir gasps, head following Agron forward when he drags his teeth back across Nasir's bottom lip. "Wait."

"I know. We need to stop," Agron groans, tongue lapping gentle and quick across Nasir's mouth. 

Palms flat against Agron's chest, Nasir stares up at him, unable to resist the somber expression settling on his face. He can hear the drums from outside, the peasants beginning to gather around the large fire pit. There are no flames there tonight though, only a platform with a large wooden pole in the center, looming in frightful and solid in the rising moon's light.

"Will you be careful tonight?" He asks, leaning his chin on Agron's sternum. 

"Yes." Agron brushes his knuckles across Nasir's cheekbone, gazing down at him. "I will not be gone from your side long. As much as we discuss the festival, it is not that time consuming. We have the hunt and then come back for the feast."

They stare at each other, the only sound in the room the echoing from outside. Lovingly, Agron nuzzles his nose against Nasir's, caressing the tip of his own against Nasir's. He isn't sure how they got here, minted royalty with the hope of life between them, and the cheers and loyalty of their people. He feels blessed, beyond imagining, beyond what he could have ever hoped. 

Easing his fingers over Agron's jaw, Nasir drags his nails lightly through his hair, smiling up at him. He wonders how they can do this, stare at one another as if it's the most important thing, as if no one else in the world matters. It's sweet, gentle when it seems that all of the rest of the world wants them to be cruel, ruthless leaders and killers. 

"My king," Nasir smiles, "I only wish to honor you tonight."

"You have honored me from the very moment that you agreed to be my husband," Agron replies with a kiss., fingers curling in Nasir's hair once again. He only let’s go when he hears a cry from outside, the voice falling into laughter a moment later. 

"It's time," Nasir urges, hating the fact that he has to extract himself from Agron's arms. 

Sighing heavily, Agron pulls his dark robe from the chair nearby, slipping the arms up his own before latching it across his throat. It hangs to cover him, shadows hiding the fine cuts of his body, his half hard cock. Nasir is quick to dart his eyes away from noticing, cheeks turning pink. Melitta's warning is a distant memory every time Nasir sees Agron, tastes him in a way that lingers on the back of his tongue. 

"Soon," Agron's grin is lewd, all knowing as he reaches down to pick up his mask too. "As soon as the festival is over, I will have you. Over and over until you can do nothing but cry out for more."

"I-" Nasir chokes, watching as Agron raises the beaten metal to his face. 

The first thing Nasir notices about the mask is it's ugly. Beaten pewter curls forming down to form the muzzle of a snarling wolf, metal teeth carved down sharp into points. The eyes are shining disks of silver, seeming to glow in the pale light. The whole thing fits over Agron's face, obscuring him and turning him into something dark - the smiling man from before disappearing behind the mad wolf. 

"What is it?" Agron asks, tying the thick leather strap behind his head, "You look terrified."

"I just-" Nasir hesitates, lifting his own mask, "I don't like it."

Nasir's own is much the same, swirling white curls that move up into a crescent move over his face, points hanging with tiny diamonds. It's intricate, beautiful really against the dark marks of Agron's own. 

"It's just a formality," Agron soothes, reaching out to wrap a strand of Nasir's hair around his finger, "Just like tying you up. In the olden days, the person playing the moon didn't always do so willingly."

Nasir shivers, mind wandering to what would have happened had Agron not returned. Would Nasir be dragged before everyone? Made to stand half naked and chained to a pole in the center of the town? Gerulf bringing him a heart to eat before what? Passing him off to Duro?

"Do not let dark thoughts cloud you," Agron finds the silver cord pooled by the leg of the chair, holding it out as he gently begins wrapping it around Nasir's wrists, "You will be guarded against anyone else trying to touch you, and when I return and the deed is done, we will retire to our tent for our own celebration."

"Promise me this is safe," Nasir's fingers wrap around Agron's, stilling him, "Promise me that our baby is safe tonight."

"I promise." Agron's voice does not quiver, does not show any sign of weakness. "No one is going to touch you except me."

“I trust you, I do, but this is our baby. Our child.” Nasir stresses, bottom lip trembling as he gazes up at Agron. “I need to know we are safe, that Gerulf is never going to touch us again. Whether it’s through his actions or Dietrich’s or anyone else. I need to know that you’re not going to leave us again.”

Agron turns then, reaching up to lift the mask up from his face. He settles his expression on Nasir, not scowling but a seriousness to him that Nasir hasn’t seen in a long time. Agron looks older, looks weighed down by the past and the knowledge that he has failed Nasir before. Leaving Nasir behind, putting him in hands that Agron thought he could trust, and that failed him. Nasir doesn’t blame him, just needs him to know that he has a second chance, they finally have their chance at happiness, Agron only needs to secure it. 

“Every day from here until the end of our lives, I will be by your side.” Agron bends down on one knee, reaching out to take Nasir’s hand. “I promise you. I swear it on my life.”

“I swear too,” Nasir smiles, leaning forward to rest his forehead on Agron’s, breathing in deeply, “Never again.”

He watches as Agron unfolds, standing back up to his full height. Nasir doesn’t want to go out there though with heavy shoulders and dark thoughts, so he slips his fingers through Agron’s, squeezing gently and tilting his head back to gaze up at him through the slits in his mask. 

“I would have sworn on bended knee too, but I don’t think I could have gotten back up.”

It works, a ghost of a grin slides across Agron’s face, disappearing behind his mask. His voice is still light when he replies though, holding back his laugh. 

“It’s okay. I like being on my knees for you.”

\- - - 

The Alptra nation stand solidly beside one another, each man, woman, and child dressed in the same matching black robe, hood covering their hair. Their masks are what set them apart though, each distinguished and foretelling a different animal. Some are made of clay, of wood, and metal, each gruesome in its expression and kind. There are mighty elephants, laughing hyenas, majestic eagles and hawks, a litter of alligators and bison, and every type of canine and feline alike. All of them stand still, heads turned towards the platform in the center, the only light from thousands of torches in their hands. 

Agron keeps his head held high as he leads Nasir forward, forced to use the silver cord around his wrists. It's not tied tightly, a more symbol than imprisonment, but still, it sends a memory of panic through the younger man. They walk slowly, with purpose, until Agron reaches the bottom step, holding still as another man approaches. 

His mask is finer than most, beaten gold fanned out around him to look like the waves of a mane. Amber is set into his eyes, gleaming orange and copper in the flickering light. He bows low to both men before drawing closer, shoulder brushing Agron's. 

"King Wolf," Spartacus cocks his head slightly to the side, voice carrying. "Who do you present before your pack?"

"My royal consort, king of fire and earth, the bearer of giants," Agron answers, voice deep and sure, "presents himself as body of Caelesties - Moon Mother of Alptra."

"The people of Alptra welcome and accept this tribute," Spartacus steps away from the steps, allowing Agron to lead Nasir forward.

It's only three steps, but Nasir swears it takes ages, careful foot falls so as not to trip. Agron is gentle when he presses Nasir back, lets the tall pillar of wood fit against his spine before he loops the rope through the metal ring on the top. It's long enough that Nasir can kneel down if he has to, held captive by the complicated knot around his wrists.

"I love you," Agron whispers, hands ghosting down Nasir's forearms. 

"Love you too," Nasir doesn't lean into the touch, doesn't let himself show any kind of weakness. Curses the hope that this will all go okay. 

Turning his back to Nasir, Agron walks to the edge of the platform and takes a torch from someone else in a wolf mask. Nasir can tell it's Duro by the stature, the way he ducks in a half clumsy bow. He bows to Nasir too, head tilted down deeper, as if an apology is etched into every inch of the motion. Nasir nods his head back, taking his sorry as a promise. Never again will their words be harsh to one another. 

"The time is almost upon us," Agron's voice isn't loud, but it carries through the silent, thrilling crowds. "The end of one era and the start of another. May the moon wash us clean, bare to our new horizons." 

He glances back once, just long enough to meet Nasir's eyes, gaze flickering between green and glowing. It’s a warning, and his expression is hidden but goosebumps break out over Nasir’s skin. It’s all lost as the moon's light slides from behind a cloud and falls on Agron. It’s at its highest point, the perfect circle like an ethereal omen – dark and twisting shadows of the crowd. 

It's instant, not even a pause as the silver, pale glow surrounds him, encases Agron in her light. The mask's knot slips free on its own, snarling metal falling forward as Agron tilts his head back and lets out a monstrous growl. It's not even close to human, eyes glowing nocturnal as he keeps staring at Nasir. Fangs burst forward, blood slicking Agron's chin as his spine crunches loudly, knocking him forward. He's down on all fours and Nasir wants to scream, fingers scrambling to toss his own mask away. There is no way he can get to him though, knots around him tighter than he originally thought.

Fabric rips open along Agron’s spine as he arches, tawny fur erupting over the straining muscles, corded tissue popping in and out of place. His bones crack, man melting away as the beast emerges with a paint growl, coat matted with fur. He’s bigger than the last time, shoulders massive and rolling with muscles. Canines gleaming with spit, Agron bristles up, bares his teeth in a snarl. 

Nasir’s knees turn weak, sliding down the pole to crouch, knees pressed to his stomach as much as he can. He’s lower than Agron, eyes huge and gleaming, terrified tears matting his eyelashes. Around them, a cornucopia of beasts and monsters scream out. It’s a frenzy as they paw the earth, trumpeting up at the moon. They won’t be satisfied until Agron leads them, chases the moon’s light through the woods. 

Images erupt in Nasir’s head, flickering over and over like trying to get a clear reflection in running water. They are not his own though, memories from a different mind. Gerulf’s mighty hands wrapped tightly around a little boy’s neck, throwing him to the ground only for the boy to roll away, covering another’s whose head is covered in thick, dark curls. There is the playful scene of fighting men, Spartacus and Agron rolling each other around in the dirt – bruises and blood. A woman with long blond hair singing a lullaby in Alptra, washing away murder from a teenage Agron’s hands. Nasir is there too, spinning in front of a fire, the coils of lust tinging the image ruby and hot. The silken ivory of curtains billowing in the wind, as Agron pets his hand down Nasir’s spine, the cry of a baby filling the air. 

Snapping back, Nasir gasps, fights the air into his lungs, as Agron raises up on his haunches – magic restored. His giant paws beat into the air as his jaw falls open. The sound from his throat is half howl, half scream – a battle cry, a calling to his people, and all fall into order. Landing on all fours shakes the platform, and Agron spares Nasir just one more look, a glance through shattered and luminescent eyes, before he is suddenly bounding away. 

Thousands of them, a plethora of beats surge after him, calling high and mighty their own noises of triumph. They all go pour up over the hill, shadows elongated as the moon shines above them, her guiding light making the darkness seem to only grow higher. It is not long before the encampment is emptied save only Nasir and the few guards left around the city center. 

\- - -

Blood pounds in Agron's head, turning his vision crimson along the edges, hues of grays and blacks dance before him. The forest is alive tonight, animals scurrying away, trying to hide from the carnage that is coming their way. There is no escaping the Alptra people though, no cowering or begging from mercy tonight. 

Howls go up behind him, voices sharp and yipping at the end. Duro is close, Tove even closer. Saxa's own resonating noise is farther east, wet from the river she's just crashed through. Other cheers go up in reply, the snarling of Naevia's panther. Crixus' bear snarls. Spartacus' lion roar. It's a symphony of sound, of joy, of fear. 

Agron skids around trees, paws beating the earth, more steady than any war drum. He's on the hunt tonight, power exerting out of himself as he jumps over embankments, over falling trees. No longer man, no longer able to think conscious thought, Agron lets go - lets the wolf have him. Moon mad and high on endorphins, he slams on further, ignoring the howls of slaughter from behind him. 

He pauses when he reaches the top of a small embankment, the forest silent before him and brimming with carnage behind. There, across the rapids before him, stands a perfectly white stag. His head is up, antlers spanning wide and thick, chest burly. The deer stands frozen, black eyes spanning over the wolf before him, one hoof pawing the ground. 

Agron knows who is he, knows instantly the power he possesses. There have been tales of this stag, this Forest King, ruling the woods on the edges of the Alptra kingdom. Some say he turns into a beautiful man during the New Moon, walking amongst the trees and luring young men into his arms and finally to sleep forever among the pines. 

He is the best, the highest ranked in the forest, and Agron will settle for nothing less for Nasir.   
Raising his head up, Agron lets out a warning growl, just a moment for the Forest King to turn. Then the chase is on. 

Paws thick with mud, Agron darts between the trees, crushing fallen plants and leaves under him. His mouth is open, growling as saliva mats around his chin, down onto his massive chest. He will not settle for any other prey; no one else will do. He wants this one, to sink his teeth and claws into the soft skin of the deer's under belly and rip him open. 

He gets a chance on the next embankment. The stag stumbles, ankle twisted in vines, and he falls forward. Agron doesn't even give him a chance to hit the earth before he is upon him, jaw snapping shut soundly over his throat. The stag gives a single failing whine before he stills completely. 

\- - - 

“Left in the care of housemaids and pirates,” Pietros mutters angrily, holding the cup of water up to Nasir’s lips. The rest of the Alptra have been gone a little over an hour, moon slipping a little further into the sky. “And what happens if something goes wrong?”

"It's fine," Nasir licks his lips, shifting his position against the pole. It's not comfortable, wood hard and cold under him, but he knows that he can't leave yet. “Agron would hear us if something happened. He has his magic back; all I need to do is call to him.”

"It's not fine. This whole thing is stupid. Why should you have to-" Pietros doesn't get a chance to finish his thought as a howl goes up, closer than before, and animals begin to pour back into the town. 

They're bloody, covered in the muck and dirt of the forest. Leaves cling to their fur, their skin, the ragged underbellies. Nasir can't tell them apart, doesn't want to know what his friends, his people, have gotten up to. He'd rather it all be a distant thought; a memory he will led fade. A few months ago, Nasir would have cried and fought to get away, but not now. Now, he settles the soles of his feet down onto the wood and fights the nausea inside him back down.

The crowd forms the circle again, restlessly pawing at the ground and nudging each other. Some still chew on the animals they've killed, splattered with the carnage of it. Impatient and feral, the people stare forward at Nasir, scent the air around him. They can sense what he's carrying, whom he belongs to, and so they don't move forward, poised on the edges - waiting with barely contained glee.

"Go," Nasir murmurs to Pietros, barely moving his lips. 

"But-" Pietros' voice trembles a little, feeling pinned under the glowing stares of the Alptra. 

"Pietros, go." Nasir struggles to his feet, shaking out his ankles to get the feelings back in his legs. Later, he swears he's going to make Agron get in a bath with him and rub his back, release the tension in his body from being left out here like this. 

Simple thoughts like that slip from him though as the crowd moves together, parts for the royal family – the glory of their land. Agron is in front, powerful jaw locked around the neck of a deer, Duro and Tove on either side behind as Saxa and Dietrich follow. They make an interesting pack, each of them covered in scarlet, liquid clinging to their bodies and snarls. The Alptra around them lower their heads, hundreds animals bowed in submission to the king. 

The stag stares blank eyed up at Nasir, dark marks under his eyes like gray triangle tears. His white coat is streaked in red, crimson still dripping from Agron's fangs with every step, an omen in bright, vivid color. It makes Nasir want to recoil, the presence of the act before him making the fear grow. The stag thumps one step after another as Agron drags it up to him. Lowering his head slowly, Agron releases the corpse down onto the wood before Nasir's bare feet. 

It's a staring match, so much that Nasir doesn't even notice the guard untying him. His hands lower to his lap, fingers curled tight as Agron leans towards him. Nasir tries not to be afraid, tries to remember what is hiding under the fur, what is held in that body. But how can he? How can he remember when this wolf doesn’t look anything like his beloved, laughing husband from before? But then, Nasir knows that Agron is complex, shows it every day. Agron's tongue is rough, hot and slick as it traces over Nasir's cheek, lapping away the stray tear that clings there. 

_"Don't be afraid, my love."_ Agron's voice whispers through his mind, a breath down Nasir's spine. _”I am still me.”_

_”Are you? Are you still my king?”_ Nasir doesn’t know why he needs the reassurance, to know that Agron is still the same, even after the rush, even after the kill. It’s just that Agron looked so much like Gerulf, hidden behind that mask, and even now, as a wolf, there is some of the previous king lingering. 

_”Forever your king.”_ Agron answers, brow furrowing. He doesn’t understand Nasir’s fear, his terror at what is presented before him. He supposes though, he can grasp that Nasir does not know what to do in situations like this – situations where they are made to perform for culture’s sake, not their own. 

_"Get it out for me."_ Nasir answers, wiggling his fingers until he can free his wrists from the knot.   
His palms are slick with sweat, nerves shaking, as he watches one of Agron's huge paws slide between the front legs of the stag. Agron's nails curl in, pierce the skin and drag down slowly - practiced and knowledgeable as the paw spreads between the ribs, snapping each one with a deafening crack. Blood pools out, slides across the platform, soak into Nasir's knees. It fills the air with copper and the crowd draw closer to see; spectators to Nasir’s strength, his glory.

Slowly inhaling through his nose, Nasir keeps his eyes on the task at hand, can't raise his head to look at Agron – terrified his fear will show. The stag is still warm, organs slick under his fingers as he manages to wrap them around the veins and arteries surrounding the heart. It’s thick, strong and fills the palm of Nasir’s hand, worthy of such a majestic beast. With a stiff tug and curled fingers, the heart comes free, dripping slowly down Nasir's forearm and onto his stomach, his lap. 

_"Nasir."_ Agron whispers again, encouraging, but Nasir ignores it, raising the heart higher for the crowd to see. He will triumph this challenge, he will prove to them who is the worthy consort. They call out, animal syphon and orchestra, ready for the prize of their hunt. 

Gazing up at Agron, Nasir keeps their eyes locked as he raises the heart to his lips – this sacrifice, this symbol for their lives – their love, their family cemented forever in place. The first bite isn't as bad as Nasir thought until he tries to pull away, teeth cutting through tissue, through corded arteries. He has to yank back, snap the muscle against his teeth. The first bite is like gristle in his mouth as he chews and chews. It seems never ending, both of his hands having to grip tightly to not drop the meat, slick and trembling hands – determined to see this through. Blood slicks down his chin, onto his chest, but Nasir ignores it, swallows thick and leans in for another bite. 

He's not sure how he does it, the whole scene like a foggy scene from a story he read once as a child. Still, Nasir continues on, chews until his jaw aches, his teeth burn, but he never slows. The baby is oddly still inside of him, seeming enraptured as Nasir continues to stare at the green rainbow of colors shimmer in Agron's eyes. He has no words, doesn't want to be encouraged, doesn't want to be pitied. He wants to prove it to him, to everyone, that he deserves this title. 

Down to the last bite, Nasir holds it carefully in the palm of his hand. His wedding band is covered in crimson, congealed and thick between his fingers, coating his knuckles. Nasir wonders momentarily how many times in the future he's going to have to have blood on his hands for this marriage, for this man, but then the heart is done, the last bit sliding down his throat. Nasir hasn’t choked, hasn't stopped once, held fast to the task. 

The roar of the crowd is boisterous, shifting from animalistic, carnal, hooves and paws beating the earth, to the cracking voices of humans. Their nakedness doesn't seem to bother them as Nasir stands, fingers curled tight in the hair at the nape of Agron's neck – presenting themselves before their people. He raises his hand, lets the sound envelope him, lets them praise him - his accomplishments. He swears it feels like the moon itself is against his skin, the palms of his hands. He basks in it, soaks it in. This is his triumph – no Gerulf. No Agron. This is Nasir and Nasir only. 

It can only last so long though as Spartacus is suddenly there, gently but firmly herding them off the stage. They have more to do this evening. The festival is only just now truly beginning.

The moment they are inside a tent, Agron is back to human, body melting back into form with a slick snap. He’s stripped down, gleaming with sweat and blood, but it doesn’t seem to even register with him as he crowds towards Nasir. Movements predatory and territorial, Agron’s shoulders hunch forward; back to mortal but his eyes are still glowing. Hands ease down Nasir’s spine, grip his ass tightly and lift, forcing Nasir up and his legs around Agron’s waist. It’s not an easy task now that he’s so heavily pregnant, stomach pressed tightly to Agron’s own, back arched. The kisses are biting, wet lapping of Agron’s tongue over his chin, up into his mouth, and then back down, sucking the drying blood from his neck. 

“Agron!” Nasir hisses, nails biting into his shoulders to balance. Over them, Nasir can just make out Spartacus, respectfully turning his head to the side, staring very intensely at a patch of dried grass on the floor. There is a flush on his face, cheeks pink as his eyes dart over, just long enough to meet Nasir’s before he stares away again.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” Agron growls, sucking harshly at the junction of Nasir’s jaw and his neck. He leaves a mark after his cleans away the blood, obsessed with the way Nasir’s skin tastes. “Fuck, you have no idea.”

“It’s not done yet,” Nasir moans suddenly, harsh breath as Agron grinds up against him. He fists his hair, tips Nasir’s head back to lick one long line from his collarbones up, nipping at his chin. “We have more to do tonight, my love.”

Agron slams them back against a pillar holding up the tent, shaking the whole structure as his supernaturally long nails dig into the fabric around Nasir’s thighs. His mouth is stained bloody, half from the kill and half from cleaning off Nasir, and he doesn’t seem to realize or care who is within the tent with them. 

“You are divine, better than any other fucking god,” Agron growls into Nasir’s ear, thrusting his hard cock up against the thin linen covering Nasir’s ass. “Let me worship you.”

“Fuck, Agron, we have an audience,” Nasir mutters, palms slipping down Agron’s chest, “And my back is aching terribly from this wood. We will have time, later, when night is slipping into morning.”

“Audience?” Agron whips his head around, growling loudly when he sees Spartacus still standing there, awkwardly shifting with his head pointed towards the earth. “What the fuck are you doing here? Get out!”

“Agron, don’t. He’s only doing his job,” Nasir chastises softly, pushing at his husband’s ribs until he scoots back, releasing Nasir to stand on his own. Nasir’s back aches miserably from staying hunched over, and he ends up leaning into Agron’s side, hiding his pain by rubbing a hand over his face.

“I am here to escort you back out when you are ready and make sure you are prepared,” Spartacus announces, scratching the side of his nose, “We still have the feast to attend to. The people are going to want to see both of you.”

“They know what we look like. I don’t see the purpose-“ Agron snarls, shoulders pulling higher and tight. He is still thrumming with power, wolf inside of him howling and clawing to be let out again. Agron has never felt it this strong before, never been so full of rage for no clear reason. He just wants everyone to leave them alone, wants to strip Nasir down and taste every inch of him. 

“My love,” Nasir soothes, rubbing a hand between Agron’s shoulders, “I am hungry, still, and we have a duty now. We will have time for pleasures and celebrating later. Let us dress and go greet our people.”

Agron glances between the two before he huffs, scowl melting back a little to a frown. “If it’s our duty, then let us go.”

“We will be only a moment Spartacus.” Nasir smiles, moving in front of Agron to hide his nakedness as best as he can, “You can wait outside if you want.”

Spartacus smiles gratefully at him before turning, ducking under the lip of the tent and into the cool air. 

The two inside move around each other, grabbing rags and water, wiping down skin and helping when Agron can’t reach the strip of crimson and mud up his spine. They continue to move, switching soiled clothes for clean. It’s in tandem, both seeming as if it’s a dance, working together to become presentable. Nasir is just pulling on his cloak again, smoothing it down when Agron finally turns to him, smiling slowly. 

“It suits you,” Agron murmurs, reaching out to adjust the collar around Nasir’s neck, “the role of consort.”

“I do not know what I am doing,” Nasir wraps his arms around Agron’s waist, “I only want to be whatever you need me to be, your confidant, your partner, the eyes and ears when you cannot be there.”

“You are everything,” Agron kisses Nasir’s forehead before cupping his stomach, “And so is this little pup. How is my little Wolfgang?”

“Wolfgang?” Nasir pulls back, raising an eyebrow at Agron.

“It was my great-grandfather’s name,” Agron replies, hands still caressing near Nasir’s navel, “Why? You don’t like it?”

“We are not naming our baby anything with wolf in it.” Nasir shakes his head, watching as the side of his stomach presses out slightly, baby stretching sideways. Agron seems to marvel at it, staring with widening eyes as his skin stretches and then retracts, stretches and then retracts, over and over until the babe is settled. 

“And what would you name such a little thing?” Agron whispers, still strumming his finger over the skin. 

“Something worthy,” Nasir cups the back of Agron’s hand, draws it up to his mouth to kiss across his knuckles, “Our child is not just a baby. It is the prophesied ruler, the bringer of light and joy to the world. It is supposed to combat all the darkness and terror in the world. It needs a name that people will remember, that they can chant with its victory.”

Agron grins slowly, pride filling him as Nasir smiles back. There is still joy at the end of the day, past the hardships they have had to endure, past the pain. There is light and it grows strong and large inside of Nasir. 

\- - - 

Auctus leans back heavily into the soft fabric of the pillows, drawing his knee up towards his chest. They’ve migrated to a large canopy tent, the sides open but filled on the ground with blankets and plush coverings. There is a forgotten bowl of blushing fruit in the center, wine cups ignored. Against his side, Barca leans one long heavy line, skin burning and eyes dark. He’s slipped back from his animal skin, feathers and fur of a sphinx reduced back to the man, but Auctus can’t erase the easy way he had pounced over the earth, killing all in his way. 

Across from them, Duro weaves his fingers through Pietros’ hair, tilting his head back to bite into his neck. The smaller Pythonissa moans into the night air, firelight shattering across his skin, reflecting on his jewelry, contouring his body. They are lovely, sun kissed skin slicking each other’s as Pietros collapses back into the violet fabric, thighs twitching apart. 

“It is a powerful thing,” Barca murmurs thoughtfully, tilting his head towards Auctus, “to feel that sort of passion towards another person.”

“It is.” Auctus agrees. “But you know all about desires and seeing yourself sated.”

“Desires that are mine and those that are not.” Barca slides his hand thoughtfully over his thigh. “Do you see this as being a product of my own desires? I do not instruct them how to move, how to touch one another, to seek out the inner folds of their bodies for exploration.”

“You also do not stop it; thus you are a pleasured audience member.” Auctus’ smile fades when Barca does not answer with one of his own. 

Barca hums thoughtfully, pouring himself and Auctus both large cups of wine. He settles back then, stares when Duro’s mouth draws blood on Pietros’ skin. He laps it away after, nuzzling his nose into Pietros’ curls and letting him pant against Duro’s neck. 

“You seem troubled,” Auctus nudges Barca, turning to look at him.

“No.” Barca draws slowly from his cup, watches Pietros’ eyes flutter, Duro’s hand between his legs, slipping between the folds of his cream colored pants. “Just observing while I can.”

“You do not think such a coupling will last? Duro has no reason to stray now. Agron and Nasir are kings. Duro is free to do as he pleases, and Pietros will never be weighed down with titles or duties.” Auctus shrugs slightly, “I do not see a reason for our union to be broken up again.”

“You do not see any reason,” Barca chides lightly, “We are not suddenly removed from our duties because hearts are not ours.”

“Duties?” Sweat begins to break out over the back of Auctus’ neck. Across from them, Pietros curls up tight against Duro’s side, face flushed and completion leaking from the prince’s fingers. Duro is quick to lap it off, kissing Pietros again. 

“We are soldiers, Auctus,” Barca finally turns his head, brow furrowed, “Our whole aim and purpose in life is to battle and die for the glory of our king. How much longer do you think this false peace will last? Agron will eventually call us to arms. He can’t avoid it forever, and then what? We die and go to the afterlife to wait reunion.”

“You speak as if we are to take up our swords tomorrow,” Auctus tries to laugh it away, but it sounds forced and mangled in his throat. 

“We could,” Barca shrugs again and it feels bitter, jostling both of them, “Agron is Gerulf’s son. He has no one to tell him he can’t anymore. If he saw fit, we could rush into battle in the next day, the next moment.”

“So we should deny ourselves the pleasures of today for fear of tomorrow? I won’t push the ones I love away because I may die one day,” Auctus’ anger begins to simmer. “Why do you speak like this?”

“I do not mean to anger you, Auctus,” Barca affectionately cups his cheek, “I only meant to caution and remind you of what we are.”

“And what is that?” Auctus snips, pulling away from Barca’s hands.

“Disposable.” Barca replies bluntly, expression hard. “We have no royal title, no land to rule. We are not filled with magic, with power to rival even the fucking gods. They belong together, not us. We are no more important than the dirt that sticks to the bottom of their feet.”

Words escape Auctus, staring at Barca in disbelief as he draws another sip from his wine cup. He looks so hard in the firelight, a single dark line of stone. Unyielding and cruel in his words, Barca has completely stripped any warmth or happiness Auctus has found this evening. 

“What’s wrong?” Duro asks, looking up from petting Pietros’ laughing cheek. 

“Nothing, my prince.” Barca answers, raising his cup towards them. Duro’s untrusting eyes move to Auctus but he just shakes his head, forcing a smile to his mouth. 

“Well,” Pietros rolls his eyes, standing slowly to his feet, “that was incredibly reassuring. I’m going to go dance with Nasir. When I return, I hope you all are in a better mood.”

With that, he’s gone, weaving his way through the crowd and towards the larger royal table. Duro awkwardly scratches his nose, saying something about finding more wine before he wanders away as well. It seems the celebration can only reach so far.

\- - - 

“You have done well for yourself, Agron,” Dietrich smiles, tearing off a hunk of meat from his plate. They’re sitting close, shoulders brushing behind the royal table as they watch the celebration before them. Through the shadows of the firelight and the darkness, the two men seem more related, like one younger and one older copy of the same man. 

“Thank you,” Agron murmurs, leaning heavily on one elbow. He’s been chewing absentmindedly on his thumbnail, eyes unmoving.

Out in front of the fire, Pietros and Nasir spin around one another, cloaks left abandoned on the ground as sashes of bright colored fabric were taken up. They make quite the pair, not writhing or sliding against one another, but stepping carefully and with practiced skill, bodies shimmering with fabric and jewelry. Pietros seems to be following Nasir’s lead, both of them holding onto one cloth as they move around one another. The dance is complicated, a series of twists and small jumps and Nasir falls into laughter every time Pietros bows to him, unable to reply with his own due to the pregnancy.

“Your boy is very charming,” Dietrich continues to stare, chewing thoughtfully, “Smart, beautiful, and able to handle you – which is not an easy feat. Where did you find such a treasure?”

“His people were traveling through our land. They’re nomads – dancers, healers, magicians. Father decided to obtain him in exchange for the Pythonissa’s safe passage.” Agron answers plainly, turning to look at his uncle. “Why do you look at him like that?”

“He is a Pythonissa?” Dietrich’s brows grow steadily higher, darting his gaze between Nasir and Agron. Before the fire, Nasir has separated from Pietros a little, spinning around now with a larger group, young men and women who want to learn the dance. Nasir looks bright and lovely while he teaches them, flecks of light sparking out around him when he spins. 

“He is the youngest son of their king, Kallistos. They call him the jewel of his people,” Agron answers, shifting uncomfortably at his uncle’s tone. He has always been in favor with Dietrich, never fought or saw any cruel intentions. Dietrich was kind when Gerulf was not, a happier and loving man than his younger brother. “Why? You worry me with these questions.”

“Your father often spoke of those people,” Dietrich sighs as if he’s telling a deep secret, as if it pains him to say it. “He knew of the prophecy for a while, a prince to become king of all kings. Rumors have been going around for a few years now, all pointing to those people and one of the children there being the bringer of the child. Gerulf knew that, that must have been why he claimed Nasir for you.”

“What do you mean?” Agron turns his body towards his uncle. “Gerulf told me he married me to Nasir because I wouldn’t lay with women, that it was a way to make us both happy.”

“Oh no,” Dietrich shook his head, stroking his beard slightly, “Your father knew very well that one of the Pythonissa would bear the child. He must have just deducted that it was Nasir, if what you say is true and he is the most cherished son. Tell me, haven’t you noticed how everyone is drawn to him? He’s been sought after even before he was born.”

“You think father planned it?” Agron slumps back into his chair, mind whirling with the information. 

“If he didn’t, he certainly got lucky.” Dietrich sighs, taking a few more bites and letting Agron stew over what he’s just said. 

Gerulf knew. Gerulf planned it, must have known that the Pythonissa were coming and used it as an opportunity. When others hadn’t been successful, picking the wrong son, Gerulf had been triumphant. It was no wonder that Kallistos had lost so many sons, so many taken by groups that thought they had claimed the most powerful only to be disappointed when it was not the case. And now here Agron stands, married and claimed to the prophesied bearer, waiting on their heir to be born – the sought after king of all kings. 

“It is a strange thing, isn’t it?” Dietrich asks softly, eyes back on the dancing group. Nasir in the center again, spinning with flecks of light scattering from his hair, from his hands. It’s a rainbow shattering of light around him and his laughter rises above the rest of the music, happy and joyful. “To look at him, you would not think that the most powerful being in the world stood before you. He is lovely, yes, all the things a consort and king should be, but he is also a very small and very much in love with you.”

“I am a blessed man.” Agron whispers, unable to raise his voice, still deep in thought. 

“You should protect them both,” Dietrich turns his attention back to Agron, “In ways beyond just physical.”

“What do you mean?” Agron asks, voice hardening. 

“Betroth the child,” Dietrich reasons, holding up his hand when Agron instantly begins to protest, “Promise the child to someone and write the contract in blood. It will deter others from coming to claim it and add another guard to Nasir when you cannot be there. You have no idea how much your life is about to change now that you are king.”

“Promise the child to whom? We don’t even know if it’s a girl or a boy yet.” Agron scoffs lightly, shaking his head. “And Nasir would be furious over it. I do not think it wise to upset him when he is so heavily full of child.”

“Promise it to someone you can trust,” Dietrich replies, waving his hand, “Tove for example. He has no desire for the throne, but he is very fond of you and your little husband. He is a good guard and would have to be near the child at all times – acting as both protector and confidant. Plus, when the child is grown, he would have no issue with relieving it from its promise and letting it marry a more fitting match.”

“Are you sure this is not some ploy to get the crown for yourself? I do not wish to go to war with you, Uncle, but I will defend what my family has fought for.” Agron’s scowl pulls his whole face down. 

“I do not want that cursed crown. I do not want to lead these people. My people are in the north, hunters and barbarians of the snow,” Dietrich sighs, “I only want to be welcomed back into the lands of my father and mother. Gerulf has kept me banished for so long, I forget even what my mother’s face looks like. See me as a friend, as blood, not enemy Agron and I will do all I can to help you flourish.”

Agron eyes him for a minute, debates internally. He wants to believe his uncle, wants to trust his family again, but he’s not sure if he can. The only true way of knowing is the test of time, of watching and waiting for betrayal. Still, it would be nice for Agron to be able to trust again. 

“The documents will be written up tomorrow,” Agron nods finally, “Securing your place and welcome to my court anytime. Also, the child will be betrothed to Tove.”

“Good man,” Dietrich smiles, patting Agron’s shoulder roughly. 

Smiling faintly at his uncle, Agron tries to ignore the nagging feeling at the back of his mind. He has no idea how he is going to bring this up to Nasir, nor what his reaction will be. Agron is almost certain he will see it as a betrayal though, as a signing away of their child even before it is born. It is a hard thing to understand if one is not born into royalty – the trading and creating of plans for the time being. 

Thoughts run dry though as Nasir breaks away from the dancing crowd, spinning up to the royal table. He’s flushed, face pink and eyes bright with small specks of light clinging within his hair and skin. Even the tiny diamonds in his crown do not compare to what his magic has provided, leaning over the table to crowd into Agron’s space. 

“You are too deep in thought for such an important celebration, my love.” Nasir smiles, panting around the words. “Will you not come and dance with me?”

Agron glances over at Dietrich to see his uncle staring at him, shocked a little by the simple request. He has never seen Agron dance, nor truly celebrate like this with his people. Usually the high prince is so stoic, sat next to his father with cup of wine and easy scowl. 

“Would you have me dance with you? You are truly the master of it,” Agron smirks slowly, teasing and light. 

Lifting his clenched fist to his chin, Nasir uncurls his fingers slowly, blowing lightly across his palm. Tiny shards of light like fine powder scatter forward, landing across Agron’s cheeks, his nose, his lips. Instantly, tiny flashes of more intimate moments scatter through Agron’s mind, the sweat on Nasir’s back, Agron’s hands in his hair, the perfectly timed swinging of Nasir’s hips, jewelry shaking and clattering together as Agron thrusts into him. 

“Not all dances are performed before crowd,” Nasir whispers, fingertips brushing over Agron’s lips before he pulls back. 

Dazed and too hot, Agron stands abruptly from his chair. “How can I deny such a sweet request from my king?” He moves around the table to wrap his arm around Nasir’s shoulders, tilting his head back to kiss. 

Nasir giggles loudly when Agron pulls him out towards the fire, spinning him with a hand held firmly in Nasir’s. The crowd parts to let them in, glances and watches as they fall into time, stepping and spinning together, hands never leaving skin. Even heavy with child, Nasir is graceful, rolling his hips and using his grip on the cords around Agron’s neck to pull him closer. In time, Agron answers with his own move, hand on the back of Nasir’s neck, hips thrusting forward – both move back and forth. They melt into the crowd, holding a crimson sash between them, Nasir spinning himself up into it before sliding away. 

Laying his cheek gently against Nasir’s, Agron murmurs to him, words hidden by the music. “I have something to tell you, my love.”

“What is it?” Nasir pets his fingers through the soft hair along the back of Agron’s head. 

“Gerulf is dead.” Agron makes sure to tighten his grip on his husband, keeping them moving in case it alerts anyone else. “I snapped his neck in the tent today.”

“What?” Nasir gasps, body wanting to still but Agron’s bulk forcing him to keep grinding his hips. 

“It wasn’t safe, even with him lying there. It was never going to change, never be alright, and I am done asking you to sacrifice yourself,” Agron kisses the shell of Nasir’s ear, “I told you I would do anything to protect you, and I have.”

“But-“ Nasir can feel the nauseating relief sweep through him, knees weakening under the news. 

“In the morning, we will go see him and make the discovery. The poison killed him,” Agron pulls back, smiling against Nasir’s mouth, “and you will never again have to cower before anyone. We are kings now, my love, until our very last days.”

Nasir, struck speechless, can only lean on his toes to kiss Agron, wrapping his arms tightly around his waist. He knows later that they will slip back into their tent, stripping down and finding completion and that dizzying high together. Right now though, Nasir is content to let the relieved laughter spill freely from his mouth, spinning around with the other dancing bodies. 

It’s strange to Dietrich, watching as his oldest nephew moves with his husband, grinding and spinning with the rest of the crowd. They don’t seem to reach the level of their titles, shedding it like snake skin. Nasir throws his hands up in the air, a million slivers of red light casting out over the group and Agron laughs delighted, pulling the smaller man against him to kiss. Dietrich doesn’t think to comment though. Let them have this joy, this freedom, tomorrow everything is set to change. 

\- - - 

Quick footsteps echo in the long, stone hallway echoing to the same beat as the dripping from the ceiling. Looking into the caverns and mazes of the Romans Empire, one would not expect them to be as lavish as they are. Though the hallways lack any sort of finesse, the rooms of the vampire tribe are decked in thick fabrics, exquisitely carved furniture, and intricate art. The messenger flies by the open doorways of many of these rooms until he gets down into the deepest level, crashing into Prince Caesar’s room. 

“Your majesty,” the young vampire pants, hand pressed to his chest, “news from Alptra.”

Lounging on a long, crimson chaise lounge, the prince turns his blond head away from the neck of his companion and to the boy. Blood has seeped onto his chin, staining it and slicking it with the life as the mortal beside him falls away, thumps to the thick carpet with a small sound. Caesar’s blue eyes glint in the candlelight, darting over to the corner where Lucretia and Ilithyia sit together, whispering to one another. 

“What is it?” Caesar waves his hand for the boy to continue, looking less interested than he truly feels. 

“King Gerulf is dead,” the boy straightens, “Agron has taken his place and was crowned last night before their festival. His husband, Nasir, is also now proclaimed consort.”

“Gerulf is dead?” Ilithyia stands, moving over into the light to glare at the message boy, “How did this come to pass?”

“Poisoned by captain of his guard. A Pontas pirate who was beheaded upon discovery.” The boy dips his head in a bow. “Gerulf lays in a dreamless coma, and reportedly will soon pass from the poisoning. Agron has already been given the title and crown.” 

“Not that I’m surprised,” Ilithyia wrinkles her nose, “It was not as if the man was without enemies.”

“There is more,” the messenger bows lower, trembling hands clasped before him. He knows this next news will either end in his praise or his death. The vampires only work in extremes. 

“Speak,” Caesar cuts in, gaze meeting his mother’s before skirting away. 

“Nasir is pregnant,” the boy flinches at the three hisses above him, quickly continuing on. “He has been for quite some time. Gerulf must have known and lied to you to gain time to steal the child and replace it with another.”

Instantly the boy is picked up off his feet, slammed into the opposite wall by one of Caesar’s pale hands. The prince leans in forward, listening to the choking before him before posing his question close enough to the boy’s face that their lips nearly brush. 

“How did you come by this? How do you know?”

“I saw him,” the boy chokes, “I was unnoticed by the Alptra. They could not smell me out until the full moon took effect. Nasir’s stomach showed his state, heavily bearing the child within him. He announced it at court and then again before he was placed on platform.”

“It is a good thing,” Ilithyia's voice suddenly soothes through the chaos, cold fingers wrapping over Caesar’s shoulder, “We have removed the mutt and his payment. We are free to go and get what we want. Our wait is almost over then.”

“It would be unwise to attack them when they are at their strongest, having just regained their power,” Lucretia steps forward, “What we need is a spy, an infiltrator to tell us when the Alptra won’t be expecting it. They will be migrating soon, moving to their castle. It would be wise to know what paths they take; what weaknesses they show in traveling. Someone to gain entrance and loyalty into the camp, invited even to the royal table itself.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Ilithyia’s voice snaps out, “They can sense vampires and would kill us on the spot. We should find a spy within the group, someone wanting payment.”

“That failed with Gerulf and the technicalities and fear of losing loyalty were too much,” Caesar releases the messenger, turning back towards the women, “I do not want to deal with another dog.”

“Perhaps then,” Lucretia smiles slowly, “we must think of something else – someone willing to do anything for this house. A spy we can send on our behalf, just long enough to gain the information we need to go.”

“And when time is right,” Caesar adds to the plan, grinning slowly, “we strike and steal the alpha, the bitch, and the cub.”

“I know just the person, let me bring him to you.” Lucretia bows. 

Caesar nods once, motioning towards the door, watching Lucretia slink away into the dark cavernous hallway outside. She is quick through the twists and turns, avoiding guards and others who may force her to pause. This plan has to work, something as poisonous as this will surely take effect. The Alptra dogs will not see it coming either as if Gerulf is dead or at the very least indisposed, his previous plan dies with him. There is no one to warn Agron and Nasir of this plot. 

It is not long before Lucretia reaches the rooms, the décor plain save for stolen extravagances – jewelry and thick fabrics piled around. She can see through the bars on the window of the door that the room is occupied, lit only by a single candle in the center of the room. Quickly, she unlocks the door and slips inside, staring over at the man as he counts a few stray coins on a table, wine glass half-filled beside him. 

“Time has come. You are needed for most important task. If you wish to gain position and fortune, you will agree without argument.”

“And what,” the man clicks the metal on the rough wood of the tabletop, “does this mission entail?”

“You will go to Alptra as a spy and gain information that will lead to Caesar taking and keeping their kings and heir.” Lucretia continues, “Nasir has proven to already be heavily pregnant and our royal family would see him within our grasp soon. Payment for such loyalty would be abundant.”

“You think I would be successful in this? Why?” the man glances up, meeting Lucretia’s glowing crimson eyes in the darkness. 

“You will be welcomed into their family as one of them, praised and given instant loyalty. Caesar knows this and would have you use it to your advantage.” Lucretia smiles that smile that is half animal, half woman – fangs sharp. “If you do this, he may even let you drink from his very neck. Isn’t that what you truly want? To be one of us? Immortal and worshiped?”

“Ah. You offer heart’s very desire.”

Standing slowly, the man slips forward from the shadows and into the light, grin slowly sliding across his face. He adjusts his vest for a moment, eyeing Lucretia before bowing low, unable to hide the glee from his voice. 

“Ashur is happy and most honored to accept such important mission. It has been many years since I’ve seen my little brother.”


End file.
